


Rescue Me from My Destiny

by FictitiousFanatisch



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Age Difference, Bottom Harry, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Daddy Louis, F/M, Famous Louis, Fem!Harry, Genderswap, Stripper Harry, Sugar Daddy AU, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:10:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 35,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4553760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictitiousFanatisch/pseuds/FictitiousFanatisch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Louis is just tired. He's lonely and doesn't feel like there's any hope of finding someone genuine in this life.</em>
</p><p>{<a href="http://open.spotify.com/user/chestpaynez/playlist/6U8BDMAdTOQuNDcpR1vQ2T">PLAYLIST</a>}</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Title** \- lyric from ' _Un-thinkable_ ' by Alicia Keys [remix] ft. Drake.
> 
> During the creation of this I also listened to ' _Can't Believe It_ ' by T-Pain ft. Lil Wayne, ' _Lotus Flower Bomb_ ' by Wale ft. Miguel, ' _HYFR_ ' by Drake ft. Lil Wayne, and ' _Motivation_ ' by Kelly Rowland ft. Lil Wayne.
> 
> I don't actually listen to that much rap and R&B anymore. Those are just tracks in one of my old playlists from seventh grade. The lyrics to those songs in particular really motivated me to create the feel for this story. Just wanted to share that so you know where I was coming from. In case you cared.
> 
> Also, I apologize for not being British. And for not knowing how to mimic slang and speech of the dialect. 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Any spelling errors are also my own so.
> 
> :)Anyway. Hope you enjoy this. It will have two parts.

 

\- ♫ -

It's just another one of those nights. The air is thick, hot. He feels as though he can barely breathe. The thump of the bass beneath his designer soles just all too familiar and the bitter taste on his tongue is hardly alleviating.

Louis sits in the booth with Zayn and Liam, slouching back as he plays with the brim of his glass.

Zayn has that gold chain around his neck again tonight. Louis's eyes catch the way the flashing light of the club reflects off of its surface. He isn't even paying much attention to the conversation anymore. That much is very evident. Normally around this time of night his mental absence would be a result of the toxins in his bloodstream. For some reason he's not been that interested in alcohol.

He's just not having any fun, tonight.

"... because you know how it is, mate. They all want you to fuck up. Just waitin' for it," Zayn is ranting, shaking his head. Liam seems to be enthralled in what he's saying, understands each word as if he isn't half pissed and slurring through his sentences at this point.

Liam Payne is one of the hottest rappers in the game right now. So maybe he does know - maybe it does make sense to him. He spends most of his days in a studio, though. He doesn't go out as much as Zayn does now that he's put an album out. He doesn't deal with many paps or the press and whatever bullshit the tabloids spin on him from week to week. He says he doesn't care. However, Liam seems to always end up selling the tracks he works so hard on, which is probably why the sales under his own name have dropped significantly.

But Liam doesn't give a fuck about that - the money side of things. He's young, twenty-two now just since last Saturday. He's only enjoying the ride. He isn't concerned with the business aspects of this extraordinary life.

Not in the slightest. That's Mr. Louis Tomlinson's occupation - being the head producer of their record label. He isn't quite sure why he still hangs out with these guys.

The fluorescence of the night reds and purples fill the spectrum in an instant. Louis takes a sip of his drink, trying his hardest not to entertain those thoughts.

It's not like he has anywhere else to be tonight.

And this is what you do isn't it? When you have money to blow, that's what you do. It's how you let go. That's how you feel alive; how you forget the bad parts about this life.

"Lou," Louis glances up from where he's been glaring at the brightness of his phone screen. He makes hazy eye contact with his companion, squints as Liam's enlarged pupils focus in on his face.

"What - what's goin' on with you, man? Not having fun?" Liam smiles tipsily, making it hard for Louis not to indulge his genuine efforts.

"Nah, just." He shrugs, any hope of an explanation lost in the back of his throat. The bass of the currently playing song is too loud and he doesn't really feel like trying to raise the volume of his exasperated voice any higher to properly communicate.

Louis's eyes travel across the small dance floor where there are several high profiles - such as themselves - grinding with girls and sipping drinks, ecstatic with everything about this aura that Louis finds irritating.

The caricature of intimacy is what Louis finds most offensive. Unlike the others in his field, he does have a firm believe in the existence of love. Though he'd never say anything about it.

Zayn belts about broken hearts every Saturday night to a crowd of thousands but he's convinced he doesn't have one.

Liam spits behind the safety of the glass about how many times he's been fucked over; likes to pretend he isn't as human as the rest of them.

Louis taps his pen on his desk, signs contracts and takes phone calls. At the end of the day he climbs out of his Panamera Porsche and walks into his formidable five thousand square foot home in Miami. He stares at the rolling waves as he smokes, the colors of the sunset still mapped behind his eyelids when midnight rolls around and he lies awake in his king sized bed.

He's got everything. Louis has more than he could ever ask for. But he feels empty. Hollow. It's as simple as that.

"Here just take 'em," Zayn laughs too heartily as he digs in the pocket of his Louis Vuitton jacket, with nimble fingers retrieves two small expertly wrapped blunts.

"Need to loosen up," Liam suggests as he takes the weed from his mate, slides them over to the music producer. Louis exhales hotly, accepts their generosity but nothing more. Swiftly he slips them into his wallet, just beside his premium black card and then puts it away deep into the front pocket of his jeans.

"... and you  _need_  to get laid," Zayn teases him, sending a firm nudge to his shoulder.

Louis rolls his eyes, notices the way Zayn's golden irises glimmer in response. He isn't kidding and that might even mean his advances are unstoppable. If Louis knows anything about the two men he's contemporarily surrounded by, that's exactly what it means.

Louis shakes his head before he does anything else; a fickle attempt to enforce his will.

"Come on, Tommo. When was the last time you had a good shag?" Liam snickers, the thick gold Rolex watch on his left wrist refracting the light against Louis's sensitive corneas. It's been such a long day already. He's primarily coming up with excuses before he even considers a truthful answer.

In turn Louis just shrugs once more - it's what he does best. Weaseling his way out of the inevitable. 

"I'm not having it," Zayn chuckles as one of the waitress girls appears in just that tight black skirt and a cleavage popping top. Louis feels tired already.

She takes Zayn's empty glass and replaces it, proceeds to lean over the table the collect Louis's as well. The older gentleman chances a look up just in time to catch the way her tongue pokes out to swipe across her artificial red of her plump lower lip.

Louis promptly looks away.

And he isn't shy. Louis isn't afraid of females at all. He was never exactly a lady killer in high school, and that's okay - he supposes. It's just, well now he's a rich R&B music producer. He wears shoes more expensive than it costed them to live at home growing up. He's a working man; is proud to say he climbed the ladder of success. He's more devoted to his job than anything else and that causes a lot of problems.

He loves his success. He loves the thrill of his own accomplishments. Louis loves getting to buy himself nice things. He finds happiness in his foreign clothing and new toys, pretty appliances, fast cars, boats, jets - all of it. He's in love with what he does and that becomes an issue when everyone else is too.

In this fast lane Louis is yet to find someone who isn't superficial. He's lonely as a result. He has all this cash he doesn't even know what to do with. He has no one he can really talk to. No one who understands his feelings quite to a tee. He spends Friday nights in this club, making small talk with handsomely paid bar tenders and his own contract bound artists because he doesn't have faith in anyone else, nor the courage to venture out into uncharted terrain. He's been scathed too many times.

"What about her, eh? She was checking you out," Liam jokes, or maybe he's serious. Louis can't tell.

Zayn very obviously stares at her arse as she walks away, as intended.

The girls in this club aren't really something Louis has paid much of his mind to. They're all attractive, sure. No one here is "ugly" when there are things like make up and plastic surgeries and tight revealing clothing you can wear. Louis knows very well the aspects of this life that everyone seems to be taking advantage of these days. No one is very original at all.

Louis doesn't really give a reply. He's now looking at the girls out of his own self depreciation. He hasn't a good reason why either.

He honestly knows he could pull any of the women in this room if he really wanted. He's got more money than he needs - an abundance of it. It still baffles him even thus far into his career. He's very aware of his fame and fortune. Louis knows from personal experience how many girls find the weight of his wallet to be a massive turn on. It's not necessarily the only thing girls like about him, but. It's the most evident when he even tries to attempt an acquaintance with one.

And so it's a blessing as well as a curse. Mr. Moneybags is surrounded by piles and piles overflowing of more than he can even count, yet he's completely, utterly, whole-heartedly, alone. He lies in solitude. What more could he ask for?

And every day is the same. Every night is the same. If Louis even attempts to make his presence known among the female population, he's swarmed by gold diggers.

He's staring into the void, an abyss of lost corrupted bodies. He sees the people bumping and grinding filthily to the slow beat of this song, feeling each other, learning the waves of euphoria without any validity. It's an illusion Louis might want to get lost in. It's the only thing that seems true sometimes - the constant lies; the  amorous ecstasy, the artificial relief.

It could be his last night on earth after all.

He actually takes a sip of the glass he isn't paying for before his eyes fall on the dancers.

They're his favorite of all the girls in this room. They certainly work hard - Louis gets an eyeful every night he spends his hours here.

Zayn keeps talking to Liam as he brings his drink up to his lips, hardly realizing his inability to do both at once.

Louis is captivated by the way they always seem so professional. They're all so pleasing to the eye, know well how to manipulate the feelings of their first class customers and how to elicit pleasure in them without doing anything more than what they know how to.

Louis thinks he's figured them out already too. Because that's what he does. He takes people apart, analyses them; dissects them and turns them inside out so that when they're reassembled all their pizzazz has crumbled. Louis is no longer fazed by anyone. He's gotten so used to everyone and the different combinations they could use to throw at him; to try and knock him down or impress him. He works his hardest to never feel any more than meets the eye. It gets in the way more often than not. It's easier to just be a body than to be a soul.

But that's when he sees her.

She is about fifty feet away from their booth, standing up on the stage in the center of the room. She's working her hips up and down that slender pole, tossing her long flowing curls back and exposing the pale column of her throat.

Louis swallows hard, his breath catching when she salaciously twirls around the pole in perfect time to the song, the widest smile spreading a cross her pretty pink lips.

There are a few other men in awe of her like he is - they're touching her thighs, slipping tips underneath her garters.

She thanks them sweetly, pearly whites exuding more beauty than Louis has seen all night.

And maybe the drink he's been nursing is finally starting to affect his judgment because he doesn't think he's ever seen such a pulchritudinous human being in this club before. It's gotten drier, the more he finds himself in this same corner of the establishment with his clique. He hasn't found much refuge in this sort of thing anymore. He's outgrowing the scene and also his youth.

"Have you seen her before?" Louis turns to Zayn - who comes here every weekend either with or without him because he always seems to have a posse to fall back onto (whom most of which certainly weren't around him during the release of his first EP).

"Huh? Who?" His slowly dipping friend asks, having completely abandoned his plea earlier to force fornication onto his older companion.

"That bird over there," Louis refrains from using any kind of physical gestures. He doesn't want her to notice him just yet nor is he sure he would like her to at all.

"The strip tease?" Liam asks bluntly, his eyes scanning her thin frame like the others.

Louis wouldn't have used that word but, he guesses it's sort of true. Which oddly sobers him at but at the entire predicament. It isn't in anyone of his prestige to be falling in love with strippers. It simply isn't smart.

That being said, Louis next feels a strange tug in his resolve to get up and go over to her before someone else does.

Because, well - she's beautiful. He wants to at least catch her name. She has thick, dark, lucid curls, all shiny and shaggy and as sexy as can be. Louis never thought his type would be the confident, broad woman with the large bust and the butterfly wing-like eyelashes. He's slowly but surely reevaluating his life.

She has long slim legs and a tiny waist, a full chest, deliciously shapely hips and thighs, and if she were to bend over just a little - oh, like she's doing now. Louis could see the fleshy temptation of her rounded arse. She's gorgeous - whatever her name is, and Louis can't seem to take his avid eyes off of her body.

It has to be nearing lecherously rude now, the amount of time he's been watching her.

Then again he figures that's the whole point of her occupation. If she didn't want to be looked at she would have gotten a job sitting behind a desk like most people.

If the alluring woman hadn't wanted to share her beauty with those in this room she wouldn't be here. She wouldn't be exposing her divinely crafted curves and the sweet protruding pout in her bottom lip. She wouldn't be swiveling her hips with grace and laughing so purely like that. Those dimples were made to be showcased. She wouldn't be having the time of her life being the definition of sexy - had it been any other way.

"She must be new," Zayn wets his lips, now eyeing her in the same manner in which his companions have been.

Louis feels the air shift when she dances; like the music is the only source of anything. The air is clouded with the smoke of the backdrop. She's up there - stunning. Louis is mesmerized by the way she owns herself and makes everyone around her fall to their knees.

' _She's truly beautiful_ ', Louis can't stop chanting like a mantra now the image of her has been burned into his mind. He blinks, closes his eyes but he still sees her, as if she's a phantasmagoric dream come to life. She's a fantasy - the way she moves absolutely incredible - and Louis wishes he could think properly because if he's not careful the chance of his lifetime might slip right between his fingertips.

"I want her," Louis says aloud before he can stop himself. His top row of teeth sink into his bottom lip as he appreciates the art of her bodily motions. She must be the best dancer in the club.

Liam looks over to him, a shit eating grin gracing his face as he nods. Louis is the boss;  _their_  boss after all. Whatever Louis wants is what he gets- no exceptions.

And so when the next song ends, Liam stands without prelude.

\- ♫ -

Louis knows it was a terrible thing to say. He didn't really mean it. He doesn't really want her. Well, he does- in every form, aspect, and derivative of the word. She is something special that Louis can't quite put words to describe. She's everything he never knew existed in a world like this. And yeah, Louis thinks his beverage is empty and - once again - in need of replenishing. So it makes plenty of sense that he can't string together proper sentences at the moment.

The alcohol is finally coursing through his bloodstream and making him feel just that side of lightheaded. His vision is only slightly bleary and he's grateful. If he's going to try to take this girl home he's going to need some substance.

(Even drunk Louis thinks he's got more substance than the majority of the people in this room.)

Liam is talking to the club manager about his new flower, organizing a private room for the two of them.

Louis isn't sure he likes the idea of that at all; would much rather get to know her first before she already assumes the worst of him. It isn't exactly the most appealing message for a man of Louis's rank to request a private show from the pretty doll immediately after her debut performance.

But what the hell, right? He's got money to blow. His reputation is just as expendable if not more.

And so that's how Louis finds himself sitting on the plush leather seats of the private room just beyond the strip of velvet rope separating the 'see no touch' zone from the 'see  _and_  touch' zone.

But that's all he's really got and looks can indeed be deceiving.

He can still hear the heavy, continuous pounding of the bass clef, the way the vibrations surge up the soft carpet of the room to settle in his gut and fuel his nerves.

Louis  _is_  nervous, is the thing. He's not that comfortable having pretty girls in his vicinity. And when he does they aren't there very long. That's plenty enough of a reason to feel some trepidation, isn't it?

Louis isn't sure how long he waits. It isn't  _that_  long, really. It only feels longer once he's left to his thoughts amongst the warm sex inspired decor of this room.

The room is painted a dark, crimson red while the carpet is a deep, rich purple. There's a silver stripper pole installed in the corner of the room on a little stage, dimly lit lamps positioned at the regal entryway where there are hung curtains like in theater.

Louis adjusts the collar of his dress shirt. He's pretty confident he won't be making use of any of these well thought out props. 

It's only one o'clock now, and Louis frowns at his bright mobile screen before stuffing it back in his coat pocket.

He chews on his bottom lip, imagines the worst case scenario of using his driest chat up line to try and persuade the little darling to take a trip home with him.

He's cringing, wiping his clammy hands on his jeans before he reaches for his drink again.

His vision is swimming by that point, and he's psyching himself out before anything has even began.

Before he even gets the chance to check his phone again for another one minute change, the lights dim even further.

Louis feels his heart speed up where it's nestled securely behind his ribcage. He feels his throat go dry, his knee start to shake. He hasn't felt this nervous since the last class presentation he gave back in school.

And, see, these are the kind of asinine thoughts Louis Tomlinson gets when he's proper smashed.

Louis wasn't expecting such a dramatic entrance. Well, it's just a little room made for fulfilling fantasies of the sad and secluded. It isn't meant to really wow said participants.

But Louis had never felt more awed than the moment the young nymphet stepped into the room.

In all her coquettish glory she entered, making her presence known.

In that tight outfit Louis had seen her in on the lit stage, she steps inside. Louis's eyes trail up her body, taking in the pattern of her tight fishnet stockings, the way the garter belt hugs her hips, relishing in the excitement he felt with a glimpse of her lace brassier - clothing the fullness of her breasts. Louis was always a sucker for a good set of boobs. She looks sinful - like a bad girl with such soft pale skin clad in all that black.

Louis just can't wait to touch her.

He's too enticed to speak; at a loss for words being so close to her, sharing the same toxic oxygen as this delicate flower.

She steps even closer and Louis thinks he might not last the night. He's already taking big gulps of breath because he can't fathom how a single girl could be so outwardly attractive.

Those black stilettos make her look so tall, wrapped around her ankles like that. Louis thinks this goddess would hover him even without the aide of footwear.

She now stands between his parted thighs. She's even more of a treasure this close - batting her long dark lashes, pouting her bottom lip and teasing him with those little indents in her sweet rosy cheeks. She has the most intriguing emerald eyes, a very deep hue of green and Louis doesn't think he's witnessed anything like them before.

He takes another deep breath before tentatively reaching his hands up, cupping either side of her hips.

She breathes out, still hasn't spoken a word but is clearly affected by his touch. Or maybe she's just a good actress, good at her job.

Louis feels his Adam's apple bob as he glances up at her. He feels like he's unworthy- amidst something too holy for him to even be allowed the pleasure of acknowledgment. It's ironic, considering how he's the wealthy  label owner and she's one of the many girls in this club (the girls he pays to make him feel a little less lonely). It should build him up - Louis Tomlinson the notorious record label owner, not Louis Tomlinson the pathetic loser he's always been desperately in need of companionship no matter how faux.

She feels warm beneath his fingertips, the slimness of her waist comforting to feel between his hands.

She hesitantly places her manicured hands on the back of his neck, soft palms caressing such tense muscles.

Louis lets his eyes flutter shut as she inches even closer, so that the flatness of her tummy is level with his face. He wants to press his face there - feel how warm her skin really is. She must have worked up a sweat dancing in those monsters on her feet, Louis thinks. 

Louis isn't sure what to say. She's here. She's right in front of him. There's music playing - just syncopated background noise to their own private haven behind such classy decor. Louis thinks that's exactly what he's paying for anyway. Intimacy with a stranger.

She tries to move a little bit more, and Louis can smell the sweetness of rose petals against her skin - God, she's spectacular - as she pushes her weight down onto his lap.

Louis's breath hitches as she kneels over him, a thigh on either side of his hips.

He watches the expression of her face change as she grows more physically relaxed there with him. This perfectly nameless girl he's never met before.

Louis already thinks she's a seraph.

Louis keeps his hands there on her hips, isn't quite sure what else to do with himself as she hovers his erogenous groin.

He's not too sure he feels alright with what's happening. He's uncertain that he likes every bit of the situation. Maybe a little too much, that is.

She's so close that all he can hear, smell, see, touch- is her. She's all around him, clouding his senses and wrapping him in the lewd sensation. It's almost offensive, how near she is to him, pressing herself to his chest and blocking out the light as the aroma of her body envelopes him.

It's the rose petals, Louis thinks, that give off the most pungent, most delectable scent. She's so wonderful, though, she has only been in the room with him for less than ten minutes.

"... what is your name?" Louis asks, delayed. His senses are all blunted when she's in the air. He can't think straight and he feels no shame for it.

Her back arches beautifully as she settles there in his lap, dark silky curls spilling over her shoulders like an exotic fabric, pooling and rippling in the most exquisite manner.

"Harry," she breathes, her voice rich like gold - or maybe creamy like a swirl of milk and honey. It's regardless the loveliest voice of a seductress Louis's eardrums have ever been attune to.

Louis has to refrain from letting a groan out when he feels the cauterizing heat and weight of her body in his lap. He's been packing a semi ever since he first saw her body twist and contort in all those elegant mannerisms and this is no assistance to appease his frustration.

"Harry..." Louis repeats, listening to the way the name rolls off of his thick northern tongue.

The vixen purrs, as she starts to move just so in his lap, sliding her hands further up his neck to cradle his jaw, titling his head up so he gives her eye contact. Louis loves how forward she is - it makes him feel even hotter for her.

He gently strokes his hands up and down Harry's sides, feeling her perfect hourglass figure while his dilated eyes attempt to read her sculpted expression.

"You're so beautiful," Louis has to say, the words tumbling from his lips faster than he can stop them. Had it not been for the liquid courage -

Harry smiles, as she begins to rolls her hips down, probably having felt the very obvious bulge of her customer's excitement. She lets her palms smooth over Louis's shoulders, then back up to cradle his neck where her thumb touches his pulse point.

Louis's eyes flutter shut on instinct to the feel of her body moving in such a blatantly sexual way. He didn't think this girl - this  _Harry_  - would so quickly attempt to rile him up but it was working well.

"You think so? Mr. Tomlinson?" Harry asks against the shell of his ear, a soft childish giggle escaping her. Louis can feel heat cooling in his lower belly and he isn't entirely sure if it's possible for a person to die from being so fucking aroused or not but he thinks if so he'll definitely be the first to say goodbye.

"Mm," Louis soothes down her waist then past her hips, working until he's cupped his palms around her bum; a cheek to each hand.

"Yeah," he confirms, shifting so he's sitting father slouched into the leather seat of the couch, his hips pushed up so she can feel what she's done to him.

Harry bites her lip, looks down to Louis's lips as if she wants to kiss them. But Louis is pretty sure that's something they can't do though - not here at least.

And oddly enough, Louis is starting to feel comfortable with her. Once she starts grinding down on him, her pretty hips moving to the beat of the song (punching soft, hot breaths from her counterpart with each) Louis starts to really get a hold of the situation. It has a different intoxicating effect on him. It's not like alcohol or weed or sex. It's not a foggy haze - his judgement intact, though his resolve is in shambles. Louis thinks he wants to make an endeavor this time. He doesn't want to be safe. He is willing to dive head first into this danger, whatever it may lead to.

She seems different; worth it. Almost as if the implications are greater than the concept of a lost opportunity. Like, if Louis rouses tomorrow to an empty bed it would be okay because - he'd gladly take the burn for her. This -  _Harry_  seems unique enough for his time to be well spent. And the chance that she isn't is one Louis is so willing to take.

(Louis knows he'll regret it in the morning.)

"How do you know my name?" Louis asks tremulously, eying the way she bares her throat in rapt desperation, almost like she's begging him to kiss her there.

Harry parts her lips to respond, flipping a stray curl from her face. Louis can tell she's turned on by the way her breath is unsteady rising before it falls. He wonders if she's getting wet because of him. Louis feels the lust in his chest burn even hotter at the thought.

"Everybody knows your name. Biggest... up and coming producer in the world right now. You're like the next ... Simon Cowell," Harry sighs, her hips moving in ellipses now, rocking slow and as painfully meticulous as possible. Louis is amazed and at the same time burning alive in the flames of his own consuming desire.

He somehow manages to let out a light laugh at her humor, finds it cute that she knows who he is and is clearly knowledgable of his magnitude but is very skillfully managing to withhold any comments pertaining to it. She's treating him like he wants to be treated.

Louis's fingers tenderly squeeze into her flesh, slowly kneading the cheeks between his hands. The feel of the lace against his skin is something magnificent - he's in love with the way it looks on her body and this somehow adds to the whole experience. Touch.

Harry lets out a precious moan, her lashes flitting closed as Louis continues to touch her there. He wishes he could do more but he knows he can't as long as she's working.

And besides, Louis hasn't even asked her yet and there's still a heavy chance she could decline.

He shan't let his hopes ascend when there's not a word inscribed in stone. Louis knows so much better than let his thoughts and fantasies get away from him. He's a smart man; had to be in order to climb to the position he's at. He's got everything except this darling beauty and right now she's all he never knew he needed.

"You have no idea how much I want to touch you," Louis exhales, words lost before they're formed.

Harry looks so beautiful, smells delicious and feels like paradise here on top of him. Louis can't go another moment without having her for his own.

He's already letting his mind wander - he's only human and this Harry is one of a kind.

Louis fantasizes her panting and sweating, screaming his name and begging for more. Louis wants to be able to give her that - look after her body and every single need it has. He wants to kiss her all over, touch her where he knows she'll feel it most. Louis is roasting on his own rotisserie spit now, imagining how good she would look naked and shivering beneath him, tangled between his sheets as she cried out for him to fuck her even harder - oh, yeah. Right now Louis can only dream of getting to be the one to make her sob with pleasure like no other. Right now he wants it more than he's ever wanted  _anything_.

Louis wants to make her his; take her, claim her. He wants to give her everything and more and if she only knew how he felt Louis has no doubt she wouldn't deny him. She makes him want to give her the world.

But alas. They've only just met.

"'Ve got a ... a pretty good idea," Harry murmurs, a hint of smugness in her tone. Louis can't hold off any longer and he wants so much his very core quakes with arousal.

"D'you wanna get out of here?" Louis finally inquires, reveling in the way her thighs tremble slightly under the attention of his calloused hands.

Harry doesn't reply for a long couple of minutes. Louis is hardly aware of the time that passes when he's with Harry. He already realizes his weakness with his queen and allows her all the time in the world to come to a response.

"Yeah," she breathes, her warm minty breath fanning out against Louis's cheek. He wishes he could kiss her right now because the feel of her body is somehow not  _enough_.

"... my shift doesn't end until two, though," Harry pulls away from him a tiny bit, just to catch a glimpse of his blue eyes.

"Is that okay?"

Louis just wraps his arms around Harry's waist, pulls her back down so that their torsos are flushed together. (The thought of her riding him is now etched into his mind.)

"I'll wait for you," Louis tells her with a smirk, moves his hips up in time with the way her body works down. He's never felt more alive than when she's above him putting him right where she wants him to be.

And although they've only just met, Louis thinks it's the beginning of so much more.

\- ♫ -

Louis doesn't drink anything for the next hour, lets his blood simmer down before he attempts to operate his white Lamborghini with such a precious soul in the passenger seat. He stares at his phone watching the time change as another pretty stripper sits in Zayn's lap. Over at the bar Liam is free-styling for a few dark skinned girls who insisted. Louis can overhear their joy from the other side of the room but he's heard it all before and feels no need to indulge in it.

When two o'clock rolls around, Louis gives Zayn a hasty goodbye and claps Liam on the back before making his way to the exit.

He retrieves his vehicle from the valet, has the keys in hand just in time for his attractive new friend to stroll out in a very pretty black trench coat with a leather bag slung over her shoulder. It's September and quickly chilling and Louis hopes she has better accommodations for the winter because he can't imagine how he'll survive once the weather goes hardcore. Here in London you can never really trust the skies.

Harry doesn't seem to mind the cold though. She's pink in the cheeks as Louis greets her again. And he doesn't think her being flushed has anything at all to do with the weather, though.

Louis presses the button to unlock the car. The butterfly doors instantly catch Harry by surprise. She gasps in shock, takes a step back as she clutches her purse to her chest.

"She's not going to bite, Love," Louis finds himself even more endeared as Harry skeptically walks toward the passenger seat, her heels clacking against the tarmac with each unsure step she takes.

Eventually Harry gets into the seat and safely buckles up. She looks more adorable than Louis thinks is fair with her brows furrowed and that lower lip pushing out as Louis loads himself in the vehicle and starts her up.

The rumble of the engine is Louis's favorite part about this car. As soon as he turns the key in the ignition Harry's pretty eyes watch the speedometer light up in blues and reds. The loud bass of Liam's latest mixtape is still blaring loudly through the speakers. Louis doesn't hesitate to twist the volume dial until the sound has been completely obliterated. Harry laughs gently as Louis switches to satellite radio, puts on pop since he doesn't yet know what kind of music she likes.

Once Louis buckles up and takes the car out of park he starts to roll out of the lot. Harry starts to sing along to the music, feels comfortable enough to do so - which is a plus.

Louis feels good, always does, but even more so when he's got an attractive young lady in his car beside him. So far Harry seems impressed by his lifestyle by the glow in her eyes, but Louis can't really tell. She's been quiet since they left the club.

Louis's house is the biggest in the gated community. It's at the very end of the long street.

Louis presses the button on the inside of his door and opens the gate, pulls in as the little driveway lights cut on one by one.

He drives into the circle around the fountain, parks in the first empty spot there is.

He helps Harry out as quickly as he can get the keys out of the car. He's promised himself to be the most gentlemanly he can be for this girl - she deserves his absolute best.

Once the door is open he takes her ethereal hand, helps her stand as tenderly as possible.

Harry is nothing but wide eyes and gaping lips as she takes in the entirety of Louis's home.

She tucks a strand of her hair behind her cartilage pierced ear as she stares at the glistening fountain with the sculpted Angels, and she's in absolute awe when she sees his other four cars out front. (One of his Porsches, his black Bugatti, his BMW and his Jag. They're the pleasure cars he keeps in London. His others are in America where he does most of his business.)

Louis is enamored at this beauty's reaction to his life before she's even reached his mahogany door. It makes him feel dizzy. It's the only way of happiness Louis knows.

Louis leads her up the stairs, takes out his keys and unlocks the door. He shows her inside, having thought her lips couldn't drop open any further.

He's wrong though. The moment Harry gets a glimpse of his marble staircase and his diamond chandelier Louis is actually worried her jaw has locked up. It wouldn't be the first time a girl he brought home had hard time fathoming what was simply routine for him.

Although it's a life Louis is no longer impressed by, he hasn't grown complacent. He's happy with what he has and his success shows that. He continues to feel good about himself and that intense feeling is only heightened when he's here with her.

"You live here?" Harry asks, her sweet voice echoing throughout the foyer halls.

"Oh no. It's just me neighbor's house I'm looking after," Louis chuckles, his arm slipping around her waist.

Harry turns to him with a serious and maybe concerned frown, and that's when Louis starts to laugh at her.

"That's not funny," Harry says even though she's snickering into the back of her hand.

"I'm just teasing, Love. But yes. This is my home - well - one of them," Louis speaks, as he leads her into the kitchen.

Harry listens, humming along as he sings the familiar tune; the one he tells pretty birds like herself to get them to stay.

Which might - in itself - be the cause of Louis's distress. He's got so much and whenever he tries to meet people they either already know or want to take from him. No one is genuine with Louis. They all want something, and that might be because he shares so much. He's too generous, people tell him. He cares too much and no one is willing to give anything to him in return.

"I have a house in Miami - that's my main home. I come to London to talk with a few of my artists. Business purposes and that," Louis informs Harry as he shows her to the bar in his kitchen, takes the coat from her back and encourages her to get comfortable.

"That's cool." Is all she says in reply. This happens too - Louis gets the girls who try to pretend that his life isn't really  _that_  impressive. The girls who are down for anything - claim no identity. That's fine.

(And maybe he's already judging her and her behavior but the typical club scene is where the typical club girls are located. He's experienced and therefore isn't usually wrong about that.)

Harry is wearing tight skinny jeans and a silky red crop top. It's a v-neck, and gives Louis a nice view of the way her breasts press together when her arms are folded over her chest. Louis looks to her eyes instead, doesn't like to fit his own stereotype. Surprisingly - Louis already respects Harry more than any of the others.

"Would you like something to drink?" Louis asks, casually.

"Yes, please. Thank you," Harry smiles, those dimples - Louis is convinced - will be the death of him

"This place is huge," she notes, tucking a long piece of her hair behind her ear. As he flicks in the lights, Louis notices the little silver hoops resting in her ears he hadn't recalled before.

Harry sits at the countertop, resting her elbows on the cool marble surface as her wide green eyes take in the entirety of Louis's kitchen.

"You look after it yourself?" She asks, a shapely eyebrow quirking up in question. Louis genuinely thinks she's one of the most attractive girls he's ever seen.

"Oh no. I have maidservants. I don't usually stay in this house very often," Louis tells her gently, taking his own coat off, folding it over in his arms and resting it on the back of the living room couch.

"Oh," Harry breathes, curling her lips. Louis turns back to her, eyes deep and blue as he contemplates what to say next.

He isn't used to bringing girls home in London. If he ever takes a girl home he's usually in America. For some reason Louis feels slightly out of his element with girls who share his accent. It's a cultural thing he thinks. Louis is used to ditsy girls in the states cooing over his voice and sleeping with him as some sort of exotic experiment. He's used to being treated in the manner he hates the most; the way he's expected to treat  _them_. With ignorance. Without depth.

But Louis isn't like that. He doesn't fit his own generalization. He's different. He's strange. And he feels like the people in his circle won't tolerate him for it. So he never says anything he shouldn't say. He tries really hard to fit in, actually.

"You don't live in London?" The pretty girl inquires, her brow furrowed.

Louis steps over to the other side of the countertop, standing in the kitchen as he opens the cabinet.

"My main home is in Miami," Louis repeats with a smile, unsure of whether or not Harry recalled him saying that. It's alright. He's never been good at communing with strangers either.

"Oh, right. So... how often do you come to London?" Harry plays with the small pendant dangling around her neck, adorning her sharp collarbones.

Louis takes out two wine glasses, places one on the counter in front of Harry before responding.

"I'd say once a month. At most. My job is kind of crazy. A lot of travel," he tells her, knowing the reaction he's gotten from other girls at that hint of information.

Many of the girls Louis has sweet talked have had the fantasy of being with him, traveling all over the world while he spoiled the shit out of them. Which - maybe, was what Louis dreamed of too, if he found the right person, that is. He'd love to spoil his partner, love to take care of her every want and every need. It was something Louis was very opened to it's just - not many of the girls he's met really make Louis want to do that. He could never see himself with any of them and that's the only reason why he's still pitifully single.

"Where do you travel?" Harry asks, her chin resting in her manicured hands as she stared up at him in awe. Her pale skin was absolutely resplendent in the glow of his kitchen lights.

"From week to week it's usually from coast to coast. Sometimes I get calls to come here. Sometimes Paris. Sometimes Ibiza. It depends. Monte Carlo is where I disappear to after especially hectic weeks. I get to travel a lot and explore new places I've never been so, I try to do that. It's one of the advantages to what I do," Louis simpers, coyly. He can see the way her breath hitches as she nods, seemingly at a loss for words.

"That sounds amazing," Harry licks her pink lips, leaving them parted but no sound escapes her.

Louis takes out a bottle of red wine from his cooler, quickly pops the cork - he doesn't want to keep his guest waiting.

Harry watches at the red fermented liquid spills into her glass. Louis then pours himself a glass, places the bottle on the counter before he takes a sip.

Harry hums, her tongue swiping over her bottom lip to chase the taste of the drink.

"You like it?" Louis asked, a small smile creeping up the corners of his mouth.

"It's really good," Harry nods, taking another sip.

Louis turns the wine bottle in his hands, examining the label.

" _Château Haut-Brion_. Haut-Brion Rouge. 1989," Louis reads aloud, shrugging at its meaning. He doesn't really drink a lot of wine unless he has guests over anyway. It's more to impress than anything. 

"Sounds fancy," Harry giggles softly, those dimples giving Louis shortness of breath.

His eyes scroll over her face, taking in the soft glow of her pale pink cheeks. Her nails are painted a dainty rouge, and Louis's eyes follow the fluid motion of her other hand as it twists in her necklace.

She's just so nice to look at.   
Such a pretty, and feminine work of art. Louis has always found beauty in the soft spoken, delicate girls. Confidence in sexuality and attractiveness. He likes a little challenge, but not a lot. He appreciates a girl who knows she's pretty, just doesn't like it when a girl flaunts it. Harry seems very reserved, doesn't flirt too much and when she does it's refreshing to experience. Louis can't wait to get his hands on her.

Harry is blushing, her eyes catching Louis's as they linger. The man blinks quickly, looks away if only to make Harry feel less uncomfortable without his eyes roaming.

A beat of silence passes before Louis decides what he wants to say next.

"Want to come sit down? Get comfortable?" Louis suggests as he finishes his glass, going to refill it.

Harry nods sheepishly, her earrings jangling just slightly. Louis watches as she stands up, takes her glass, leaves her purse and steps out of her heels before she walks onto the carpet of his living room.

Louis smiles at the mindful sentiment, though he doesn't really care. He gets his carpets cleaned once a year.

Louis brings the wine to the living room, places the bottle on his glass coffee table.

"How big is that flat screen?" Harry asks as Louis walks over to the stereo, turns it on and twists the volume up slightly to give the room a less tense aura.

(Louis's never been a fan of silence and with a little bit of music those awkward silences between conversational topics don't feel so awkward after all. He's picked up a lot of helpful tricks over the years. Anything to help him feel more secure is greatly appreciated.)

"Two meters. I think," Louis says, and he doesn't mean to sound nonchalant, but. He isn't really as amazed about his stuff as this girl seems.

He joins the little miss on the couch, putting his arm over the back of the couch to insinuate just the right amount of friendliness. He doesn't want to be too forward, but, that is why Harry agreed to come isn't it?

"It's humongous," Harry says, taking another sip of the wine.

While Harry looks around the room Louis takes his phone out of his pocket, turns it off just in case. He places it on the coffee table, and he sees Harry notice in his peripheral vision.

"So when did you start working at the club?" Louis asks, hopefully choosing a general enough topic.

Harry turns to him, her eyes sparkling as they look into his. She hesitates, must be thinking.

"Few weeks ago." Harry vaguely supplies, her lips working slowly. Louis reciprocates with a tight nod.

"Never seen you there before. That's all," he explains, and the way her chest rises when she breathes makes Louis really crave her touch.

She's just so sweet, so cute and so human. She reminds him of a school girl - a silly crush he might have had back in year eight. He feels young and lightheaded.   
It's beautiful.

Louis feels good in her presence, and that's exactly why she's here with him. It's Louis's weakness. Anything that gives him happiness.

He has to have her.

Harry flashes a tiny smiles at him before she takes the last sip of her beverage. Louis watches her throat move as she swallows, tearing his gaze away to retrieve the bottle again.

Harry lets him replenish her glass, softly thanks him.

Louis idly rubs his hand over his three day old beard, before bringing the brim of his glass to his lips again.

"So... what do you do?" Harry asks, her fingers tracing the seam of the leather couch cushion.

"Well I mean... I know what you do. It's just... " Harry rambles adorably, sighing in frustration as she stumbles over her words.

Louis glances to her, notices the way she's shyly watching the floor.

"Like... you just have so many nice things," Harry comments, shortly looking up at him. He smiles at her, contemplating an answer.

Not a lot of these girls really care about his work. His business is truly his life and it is a shame not many people genuinely have an interest in it. Louis isn't sure what Harry means by asking. And he doesn't want to get his hopes up either.

"If you don't mind me asking," Harry blabbers, her green eyes wide. "I'm sorry, I'll just..."

"It's fine." He cuts in with an insecure chuckle. "No one really... genuinely wants to know much about my work when I invite them over," Louis sincerely says, feeling his chest tighten at the thought. It reminds him of how ridiculous he's being.

Harry doesn't say anything after that. She just waits for him to figure out what it is he's always wanted to say.

"I'm a music producer. I started off working in a studio helping other artists produce you know, demos and albums and such. Then, when I was twenty five I decided to start my own label. I'm the head of all production - meaning I make the final decisions on everything from track lists to music videos. I look after my artists and make all the important decisions pertaining to their output. I love my job. I take it very seriously as my decisions mainly outline the careers of the artists," Louis tells her, lifting his glass to take a sip.

"Oh, okay. You're like, the boss," Harry says, and her lengthy eyelashes flutter just so. Louis thinks he can see the reigns slipping through her fingers as the alcohol courses through her veins.

It's familiar. Calming.   
Makes things easier.

"Yeah, I'm the boss," Louis confirms, muscles relaxing back into the seat. It is a nice life he lives. He's used to the finer things; enjoys the guarantee that every last bit of his hard work has paid off. And that it always will.

"Must be a lot of work," Harry says, her lips now stained red. Louis thinks they look perfect in contrast to her milky white skin.

"Yeah," Louis says, doesn't hesitate to refill his glass again when it runs dry.

And now he's only slightly tipsy - doesn't really feel the effects of the intoxication. She's keeping him here; her queries forcing him to stay somewhat mentally attune to his surroundings.

Louis appreciates it. She's different. Most girls want to head right to the bedroom as soon as they walk in the door.

Louis elated by this illusion of companionship - it's almost like a date. They're enjoying themselves, but it doesn't feel like it's going too fast. Louis doesn't feel pressure. He's tranquil, relaxed. 

\- ♫ -

The sleeve of her silky crop top is slipping over her shoulder now. A breathy giggle escapes her throat and her red lips stretch tightly across he face.

They're still taking it slow, steadily drinking any nerves away.

Louis is telling her about his night, talking about Zayn and Liam - both talented artists on his label but explaining to her their naivety. They're both younger than him still haven't adjusted to the life of fame. He's making them sound like right imbeciles - because to Louis on nights like these - they are. He really doesn't get why he still hangs out with them.

"They're always trying to get me to go out... but I've been to all the clubs and..." he shrugs, hoping Harry will understand he's lost his train of thought.

He reaches out to touch her, carefully tugs her sleeve back up her shoulder so she isn't exposed.

With hooded eyes Harry watches him do it, biting back a smile.

"Don't go with them, then," Harry tries, slowly swirls the last bit of wine in her glass.

Louis inhales, the sweet scent of her skin filling his nostrils. She smells really nice and Louis wishes he could tell her that - doesn't think that would be very appropriate, though. Sadly.

"But see... can't do that now," Louis's voice tickles, blinking slowly.

"Why not?" Harry is intrigued, and her hair falls into her eyes as she leans her head to the back of the couch.

Louis sits up a bit, takes her free hand from where it rests on her thigh. He touches her gently, thumb lightly dusting over the her knuckles. He's watching his own hand move, doesn't notice the way Harry stares at him.

"If I hadn't gone with them tonight..." he trails, lifting his eyes to meet hers.

"'Wouldn't have met you," he smoothly tells her, as their fingers tangle together.

Harry is already flushed, and he thinks she looks immaculate as another surge of tepid warmth spreads through her cheeks.

"Guess not," she fights back a grin, her dimples still protruding, juxtaposing all efforts.

Louis thinks she's absolutely stunning - stripped bare. She's just so winsome and witty and wonderful. She's pure and something so special, Louis isn't sure what to compliment her on first - just her as a whole. And he can't do that. 

Now that he's got a bit of chemicals in his bloodstream he feels so much more secure; almost as if Louis Tomlinson could never get away with anything - could never do achieve much without the aide of alcohol. He feels floaty now, higher than he's ever been on a Friday night with a pretty girl sitting in his living room. He wants to do everything and nothing all at once and he's so glad he gets to do it with her.

And she adds to it - this incredible feeling. She makes him feel so much more than just intoxication. It's scary; petrifying. Louis is uncertain, yet he's throwing himself headfirst into the unknown. He can't wait to deal with the aftermath. As he always does and maybe always will until the end of his time.

"Can... could I tell you something? Like, honestly." Louis asks seriously, because he feels like he's known her for so much longer than just three hours.

On her knees Harry inches closer to him, takes the now empty bottle from his hands and places it down on the glass coffee table. She gives him her full attention and it's nice.

"Sure," she urges, moving to rest her head on his shoulder.

Louis puts his arm over her shoulders, feels glad to finally be in the right atmosphere to be able to do that.

Because maybe Louis is a coward - pathetic without the assistance of heady euphoria.

"I don't quite... fit my lifestyle, I don't think," Louis tells her, staring into space.

He only ever gets real when alcohol and sex are involved. He'll whisper all his feelings into burning skin, trust his one night stands with more truth than most of his closest friends. It's horrible.  Horrible how hard this is.

"What do you mean?" Harry asks him, her palm flat against Louis's chest.

"Like, I feel ..." Louis swallows his pride. He shouldn't worry of her judgement. He doesn't think she'll leave him already - if not physically then mentally. He doesn't think Harry will take one look at his true colors; at what he's like underneath his calloused shell and walk out on him. She seems different, and Louis hopes he's right about that.

"I look around at all of this... all the blessings in my life. And I'm grateful, I am. It's just..." Louis puts his feet on the coffee table, crosses his legs to try and relieve the tension in his body. Because there's no need for it.

"Hm?" Harry urges him on, her face edging closer to his neck. She smells of flower petals and her dark curls are even more silky and frilly up close. Louis wants to touch them.

"No one really... likes me. Too many people I meet just... they only see all this and not- me, I guess," Louis stammers, tongue tied. Harry pulls away, but tugs Louis's hand into her lap. She plays with their fingers, nods intently. She's listening. She cares, at least. Which is new.

"I mean, it's kinda hard to not see this stuff," Harry informs him, tracing the ridges of his knuckles, then up further to his wrist.

"Yeah, I guess." Louis sighs, evidently. He knows that. Most people aren't as lucky as he is - haven't had the opportunities he has had.

"Just... gets lonely. Sometimes," Louis replies, looking over to see what Harry is doing with his hand.

Harry shakes her head sympathetically. Louis wishes she didn't have to listen to his problems. He feels like it isn't her job to help him forget that. Its not her job to fix him and he can't blame her if she doesn't care. It's what she's been doing though - helping him forget, and she's been doing it well.

"Life is good. I can't complain. But at the same time..."

"You feel like people are fake? Towards you?" Harry suggests, curling Louis's fingers into a ball in his palm.

"Yeah. For example... I can't go on dates or try to make... acquaintances with the normal crowd. I want to. I've always been like, a people person," Louis provides, glancing up to see her hand toss through her curls.

"Just... to have a conversation with," Harry nods along, releases her hold on him.

"Exactly," Louis agrees, as he thinks about it. Because it's the stone cold truth. He only very rarely finds a girl at the club like Harry. She's a good listener, a hard worker - more than just a pretty face to look at. Substance. A personality Louis can dissect or deflect in an instant. She's caught his attention. A lot of girls can't even do that but he often settles with what he's got because he's so tired.

He's so tired of sleeping alone, keeping all his feelings bottled in and secluding himself from the other people in his life. He doesn't want them. He wants a real person to just  _be_  with. Louis doesn't know what he has to do to savor that type of connection.

"Well..." Harry trails, her voice slipping on the precipice of something else.

Louis turns his head to her, watches her eyes as they travel down his body.

He feels his heart jump because - he thinks it's time.

"Not everyone is... that way," Harry's voice trails away as she cups his cheek, gently moves in to press their lips together.

Louis looks at her dazedly, his eyes fluttering shut as she kisses him again. Just a soft peck - slow, steady.

"I know," Louis engages, slides his hand up to rest on her waist. He can feel her careful hand on the side of his neck and he thinks her touch is the most bewitching.

He can't pretend there isn't a dynamic between him and this girl. Harry seems like the kind of girl that likes a lot of foreplay - she's probably into teasing and dirty talk. Louis thinks he's alright with that. He just wants to do whatever she wants him to. He's feeling generous.  _Wants_  this to be about her.

Then she's kissing him, her lips slotting with his. Louis feels hot around the collar as she licks into his mouth, slowly moving her tongue against his.

Harry smiles, bites her reddened lip when she pulls back to breathe.

Louis's thumb strokes the soft exposed skin of her side, relishes in her warmth.

He isn't sure how long they have together and he wants to bottle this moment up, keep it with him forever. He never wants to let her go and he's going to make this - his time with her - last as long as possible.

She leans in again, eyes flitting closed as if she's in a dream. Their lips collide, but Louis is tender where she's attempting rambunctious. He doesn't want this to go too fast.

She seems to catch on, decides to climb onto his lap instead. Louis can taste red wine on her tongue, something excruciatingly hot against his skin as she moves.

She moans sweetly as she maneuvers against his body, slides both thighs akimbo on his lap.

Louis glides a hand down her back, feels her lips against his neck, sucking softly.

Louis wonders what's going through her mind in this moment. She isn't at all out of her element - a natural. She's beautiful there, perched upon his thighs just like she was in the club.

Louis loves this feeling she elicits within him. It's different. He's so infatuated with her it hurts.

And sure, this is nothing new. Louis has slept with strangers like this before - only it's not the same. It's nowhere similar to any of the other times he's taken a girl home. Because Harry is most definitely not like any of the other girls he's ever taken home.

"Maybe... maybe I can help you... not feel so lonely," Harry comforts him, her hips slowly but surely moving in his lap.

Louis hums in approval, his hands slipping up the back of her shirt to feel her sweet skin.

She runs her gentle hands through his hair as they kiss. It's feverish - desperate, as if Louis's starved of her touch, her taste. She gives him goosebumps.

He's starting to think he might be in love with her.

Louis - he's lost in it - breath catching, ears buzzing with static as her wet tongue prods past his parted lips. She knows what she wants. It's making him feel dizzy.

He cautiously moves his hands further up, starts to take her top off. Harry just breathes out against his upper lip, moves her hair to her left shoulder so it isn't in the way.

Louis inhales sharply as her skin is exposed - just as gorgeous as he recalls.

He tosses her shirt to the couch beside them, proceeds to rake his eyes over her torso.

Louis runs his hands all over her skin, caresses her shoulders, starts leaving a trail of kisses down her neck to her collarbone.

"... so beautiful," Louis whispers to her, wrapping his arms around her midsection, tugging her even closer.

Harry moans quietly, warmth spreading through her entire body under Louis's attention. He kisses her neck slow, strokes his fingertips down her spine.

Harry's body visibly quakes, her hands trembling as she reaches out to touch him.

Louis feels her fingers thread through his short hair, lightly tugging at it in a desperate plea for more.

Luckily, Louis speaks her language.

He starts kissing her chest, his hands frantic against the hook of her bra. Harry flips her hair out of the way so she can see as she works her nimble fingers at his shirt.

Louis feels cool air hit his chest as the buttons come undone from his neck down to his abdomen.

Harry mewls into the next kiss, sucking at his bottom lip as the bra slips off of her shoulders and drifts lifelessly to the floor.

Louis has his hands on her breasts immediately, hands gentle as they caress them, thumbs rubbing slow circles into her tight nipples.

Harry releases a breathy sound, arching her back and pushing her chest into his hands. He takes this to mean something good and continues his ministrations.

But Louis wants her closer - wants her completely naked - like, now. He needs more and it's eating him alive.

He sits up further, jostling her in his lap as he shucks the shirt off his shoulders. He reaches down to tug at the button of her jeans until it pops open, undoes the zip as he holds her gaze.

She whimpers drowsily, a needy look in those dilated eyes as she takes his lips once more.

Harry shifts in his lap, slipping her arms around the back of his neck to hold him closer.

Louis's hands slide up and down her back fervently because he wants to hold her too - touch all of her at once, but his hands aren't big enough.

He seriously thinks he might be in love with her.

He pushes his hips up slowly, feels her body rock down and he thinks she's got the message.

Louis's hands slide back to hold either side of her waist. He murmurs against her lips, tells her to hold onto him and she obeys, tucking her legs underneath his, arms folded behind his neck.

Louis stands, and she's secure in his strong arms. Her thighs bracket his hips and her legs wrap around his waist.

He steps around the room carefully, but drunkly, maneuvering about the obstructions. He walks under the arch, takes them down the short hall to his bedroom and kicks the door open with his foot.

Harry giggles against his lips, her breath punching out of her chest as Louis lays her down on the center of his bed.

Louis crawls on top of her, kisses her lips softly before he starts tugging at the legs of her jeans.

He throws them off of the end of the bed once they're gone, sucks a bruise into the side of her neck while pushing at the waist of the tight jeans around his own hips.

Harry puts her legs around his waist, uses her feet to push the jeans down Louis's legs.

Louis smiles against her lips, kicks them over the side onto the floor.

Louis gently grinds his hips down against the sensitive area between her thighs. Harry moans, her gorgeous locks of hair fanning out all across his pillows.

"Mm," Louis smoothes his hand up Harry's hairless thigh while rutting down against her. She seems to like that a lot, her lips parting slightly with a strangled exhale.

Harry holds both sides of his jaw, tugging him back in for another kiss whenever he pulls away.

"Please," Harry groans, licking at the seam of his lips until they give way.

Louis is scorching with arousal. He feels like he's on fire - scared he'll burn her.

Although he doesn't want to rush this - he can't stave off any longer.

She's driving him crazy, his senses all wrapped in her touch, her heady smell, her soft breathy noises. It's too much.

Louis lets go of her, pulls away so that her body sinks into the unmade bed.

Louis kisses down her chest, feels endeared at the way her heartbeat flutters against his lips. He keeps dragging lips and tongue further down her abdomen, stops to press his face into the softness of her tummy, noses at her belly button.

He feels her body rise and fall so quickly with how excited she is. Louis feels sparks coil through his belly with the thought. He made her feel this way - he's gotten her so hot for him. She likes him.

He slides his fingertips up under the elastic of her black lace panties, folds them gently over her hips, tugs them down her parted thighs.

Harry is absolutely beautiful below her waist. She's clean and shaven, not a single trace of hair anywhere near her hips. She's soft and pink and so, so wet and Louis would love to bury his face between her thighs and suffocate on the taste of her. He knows neither one of them have to patience for anymore teasing, though.

So he just licks his lips, balls Harry's underwear up and pitches it onto the floor. Harry watches him with bullet blown pupils, just a slight ring of green around a devouring black.

Louis reaches over to his nightstand, hastily snatches a Magnum because he's got this goddess in his bed and he's so hard between his thighs and she's too beautiful and he doesn't want to keep either of them waiting any longer.

Louis sits up slightly, tears the briefs off his hips and down his thighs. He chucks them over the bed to join the rest of their aimlessly thrown articles of clothing.

Harry occupies herself kissing up Louis's throat as he tears the condom wrapper. He rolls it onto his hard cock, savoring the warm touch of his hand as it pushes up his aching arousal. He's been at least half hard all night long and now he's finally got this delicate flower in his arms, moments away from having her for his own.

Harry's arms wrap around his neck so that her hands rest clasped just below the nape of his neck.

Louis presses a kiss to her lips while his hands hitch her spread thighs up around his hips.

He pulls back to look at her face, staring at her eyes as she trusts him to do this to her.

Louis has never felt like this before.

Harry looks so small underneath him - up there on that stage she looked bigger than the entire room, the entire  _world_ , actually. But here they are, touching each other, ensconced in the privacy of Louis's bedroom and she looks so sweet, so innocent with those big eyes and pouting lips. And Louis knows she's anything but - has experienced it first hand. But he doesn't care. Doesn't mind one bit.

She's still the fittest girl he's ever seen and he'll swear it.

He smiles at her, true buoyancy blooming in his chest like tulips in the spring. Harry dopily returns the look, clearly drowning in a pit of her own arousal. Louis feels the same. It's a lot to take in.

He guides the tip of his cock between her wet folds, and once he's positioned at her entrance he lets his thumb slide through her heat, teasingly rubs it against her sensitive clit.

Harry keens weakly, red lips falling open, surprised at the sudden pleasure.

Louis smirks, satisfied with her body's response.

He is gentle with her, watches her face contort as he starts to ease in.

Harry bites her bottom lip, her legs tightening around Louis's hips. Louis would like her to close them - keep them locked breathlessly together forever amidst this aphrodisiacal sensation.

Her eyes fall shut, her brow knitting together as if she's trying to mentally assess the current situation. Louis kisses her forehead softly, right between those stress lines.

Harry opens her eyes at that, glances up at him to find him looking at her with the most sincerity in his eyes.

Louis wants to say something when he pushes all the way in, feeling the warmth of her body enclosing around his hips.

Because she's tight - so fucking tight, like a virgin - and if it were anyone else he probably would've said so.

But Louis doesn't feel like it would be right to say that. Almost as if he's afraid of being rude, or hurting her feelings by offending her.

He wants to make her feel so good - in every way; has been carefully selecting his words and formulating his every move all night because he doesn't want to do or say anything wrong in her presence. He wants her to be happy. He's besotted, wants to provide for her every need right now - and maybe always. She's a queen and should be treated as such.

"Alright?" Louis asks, rests his lips against her temple. Harry makes a little noise in the back of her throat - it's hardly a response, but somehow, Louis understands.

Louis feels pleasure shoot through his bones as he pulls out just slightly, thrusts his hips forward that first time.

Harry gasps, her chest collapsing into the mattress. Louis presses his lips to hers, coaxes her tongue into his mouth, and sucks on it while he pumps his hips back into her.

Harry's arms move, her hands gliding over Louis's chest. She moans, must be feeling good. 

He works up to a steady rhythm, careful when he pushes back into her. She's special to him - important. He's feeling like he needs to make this the best she's ever had; like he has to do something to convince her to stay if there's been any doubt entertained in her pretty little mind.

Because that's what he  _wants_. It's what he's always wanted. Louis wants her to  _stay_. She's a stranger, but she's a good stranger. She's the kind of stranger Louis wants to stick around, like maybe when he wakes up tomorrow she'll still be here.

That's what he craves. He's willing to give her everything; spend it all on her if there's a chance she'll say yes.

That's the ordeal. That's what it boils down to. And now that Louis's had a tantalizing taste of her he just can't get enough. He's going to want more and more and he doesn't think he'll be able to cope if she leaves him, to forever remain a passerby.

" _Oh_ , fuck-" Harry groans, clawing at his back with those pretty red nails, leaving trails of pink in their wake.

"You feel so good, Darling," Louis struggles to tells her, his whole body wracked with pleasure as he fucks his hips all the way into her, pulling out only to firmly thrust back in.

She's sweating, flushed a sweet hue of magenta; her body absolutely glowing as she arches up his bed.

Louis hears her panting something so lightly, can't comprehend her words but he's listening intently, trying his hardest.

"Oh-  _Daddy_ ," she cries out, her thighs quivering as her legs slip down his hips.

Louis's chest tightens, an immensely intense feeling shooting through him at the use of the term. He feels something settle in his gut - something right and satisfying, like, puzzle pieces clicking together.

He's never been called ' _Daddy_ ' before - never heard the sound of a pretty voice say that in his bed. But he somehow understands where she might. Yeah. Okay. It's just...  _wow_. He never knew how much he needed to have it until now.

It's erotic, to hear someone call you that. Especially Harry, since- Louis is already losing his mind because she seems to be everywhere all at once - manipulating his thoughts so that all he can concentrate on his her and her beautiful body and her gorgeous curves, soft white skin and those full red lips and just - like he said, it's erotic.

He feels another hot wave of arousal crash into his core and he fucks her just a little bit harder, tilts his hips up until he's sure he's hitting her g-spot with every flick.

"Daddy - h- _hah_..." she whimpers, baring her throat back against the bed as her eyes squeeze tight. Louis's lips latch onto her jugular, kiss and suck on her skin whilst she writhes.

It's half the euphoria on its own to know that she's feeling good. That's what's most important to him. Louis can't bring himself to properly perform respiration, is expelling heavy heavy breaths and sucking in all he can because he might pass out if he doesn't.

"Baby..." Louis hears the pet name pour from him in retaliation, tongue dry in his mouth. He's hypnotized, watching in rapt fascination at the way the necklace moves on her chest as their bodies rock together.

"Such a good girl... so perfect," he murmurs against her sweet skin. And she smells delectable right here, the crook between her shoulder and her neck. She's burning up and slightly sticky with sweat, but Louis's never felt anything better so he delves into her, burrows there and hopes he never has to leave.

"Oh,  _God_ ," Harry sounds like she's just as manic for release as he is, and no matter how much he wants this to last forever he knows that it won't.

He teases her with some slow strokes, pummels his hips forward deeply before dragging them out. The bed frame rocks and squeaks to the beat of the same song.

"Oh... Daddy - please,  _fuck_  me," Harry practically screams in aggravation, her hips desperately pushing up into his as he fucks hers farther down into the mattress. She's getting close, Louis can tell by the way her voice cracks.

"Please -" Louis shushes her pleas, tells her not to beg. A queen should never beg - she should receive everything without preamble. Deserves undivided attention and uninterrupted immersion.

"Daddy's going to take care of you," Louis whispers against the heat of her cheek, burning the words into her skin like a blacksmith inscribing promises into scathing metal.

Harry seems to believe him, trusts him enough to close her lips. Her eyes are closed as well, completely invested in the man whom she's only met just hours prior.

The room is too hot - but Louis loves everything about it. He's never been more content than when he's in encircled by those arms, laying with such a beautiful creature.

"I'm gonna - oh," Harry's lips drop open once more, the words lost in the heady air.

Louis gets it though - feels the exact way. She's doing irreverent, irreversible things to him. His lungs expand as his head tilts back, eyes clenching shut.

He's so damn close that it hurts. The erratic feeling twists through his lower abdomen, the rhythm of his quickening breaths stutters, the same way the constant push of his hips falters.

Louis feels his orgasm tear through him violently, the scrape of Harry's nails against his back muscles tied with the feel of her thighs tightening around his hips.

She clenches down on him as she comes at the same moment, crying out like it's too much and Louis thinks it might actually be.

"Oh... oh," Harry squeaks, her eyes twitching shut and her legs falling into the mattress.

Louis just leans in, presses their lips together as he feels himself release. It's alleviating - rejuvenating, like his tight grasp on this feeling has been gently relieved. The high is incredible, and Louis thinks he'd like to feel it all the time, whenever and wherever he wanted.

Harry comes so, so much, and Louis feels like he could drown in it. He slowly pumps through until he feels himself come down, lets their bodies rattle with the aftershocks.

Harry opens her eyes gradually. Her lashes are wet - she's got tears swimming in her eyes. Louis smiles when she sees him, cups both his hands around her cheeks and tilts her chin up to conjoin their lips.

"'Never want to stop kissing you," Louis breathes, pulling back just a fraction to see her beautiful face.

Harry hums happily at that, wetting her lips and soothing her hands down Louis's back. Her breath is gradually evening out, inhale almost as smooth as her exhale.

Louis pulls out slowly and carefully, really doesn't want to hurt her after the amazing sex they've just shared.

Harry lays on the bed as Louis pulls and ties off the condom, tosses it into the bin by the wall on the opposite side of the room.

He kisses her sweat glistened brow, asks her if she needs anything.

Harry looks at him with big eyes, unsure of what he means.

"'Just want you to be comfortable," Louis assures her as he pulls the sheets up from where they've been pooled at the end of the king sized bed.

"I'm good," Harry says, watching as Louis covers her body up with the sheet.

He catches the glimmer in her eye, turns away because he doesn't want her to realize how much he already feels for her. Because still - this could be the last time he ever sees her. He just wants her to know how serious he is for her, show her he truly means it with his actions.

"I've got to lock up and all that. I'll be right back, Love," Louis says as he reaches over to the night table, takes a cigarette out of his pack of Marlboros. He grabs his lighter too, brings the flame up to the end.

He stands, holds the cigarette between his lips as he goes over into his dresser for a pair of boxers. He slides them up his legs, then takes the fag with him as he leaves the room. He doesn't want to fill her airways with smoke if she doesn't like that.

He's always got a lot on his mind after he has sex with a girl. He's got his head all over the place and often has to have a smoke or two to at least set his nerves at ease.

He starts thinking about all kinds of things - mostly emotional things, though. And like most people, Louis doesn't really know how to deal with his emotions.

He doesn't want to think about the same thing he always does - that same pestering question.

When will it end? When will Louis Tomlinson settle down, and stop sleeping with strangers? When will this rich, handsome man learn to trust, or even try to believe love is out there for him too?

Louis doesn't know, and he even considers it, wonders if maybe Harry is the one. He's had a special feeling about her from the moment he first laid his cerulean eyes on her. Maybe she's the one. Who knows. Not him.

She's certainly beautiful - is more than everything the word describes. She's the definition of beauty to Louis - a true treasure. Harry is more than the rest, so much more.

And Louis doesn't want to imprint on the poor girl. He doesn't own her (although he'd really like her to be his).

It's just... he's done this so many times before. He's not good at this life. All he knows how to be is this rich, larger than life record label owner. He doesn't know how to be Louis Tomlinson from Doncaster in Yorkshire anymore. He's so far from being human - still struggling with his own identity like a prepubescent teenager. It's sad, honestly.

In this life he takes too many risks, but at the same time lives too quietly. He's hiding behind an ambiguous title. Louis doesn't claim anything - couldn't even be his own person if he wanted to. He's a concept; nothing but an intangible idea ascending into the clouds. A feather drifting about in the wind.

Louis wishes he could be more for himself. Then maybe he could be something for somebody else.

Louis exhales a long trail of smoke as he flicks the kitchen lights off. He meanders over to the front door, makes sure the locks are bolted tight so they're safe and sound. He puts the alarm on, typing in the PIN number with his right hand as he takes the cigarette from his lips with his left.

Because this house is so quiet at night. Even though Louis sleeps in a different house on the other side of the world most of them.

All of Louis's houses are quiet - almost silent apart from the low him of the heating unit, the buzz of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the occasional creak in the floorboards as he walks around the empty house those sleepless nights.

He's usually alone in them. It's normally just Louis and all of Louis's materialistic things.

Louis finishes his cigarette as he turns off the stereo. He would otherwise leave it on all night just so he didn't have to deal with the eerie silence as he tried to rest.

He reaches the filter, crushes the butt into the ashtray on the shelf beside the stereo. He's put it there for a reason - executes this late night routine nearly every time he has a pretty girl over.

The fact that she's here just reminds him that he's truly alone.

He trudges back down the hall into the bedroom, the dim light of his bedside table lamp spilling out into the hallway when he opens the door.

Harry's lying on her front, the side profile of her face pressed to one of Louis's thick white pillows. Her dark brown unruly curls are spread out over her pale shoulders and back, and her breaths are steady.

Louis assumes she's asleep, so he gingerly sits down on the bed, scratches at his chest as he pulls his side of bedclothes up over his body.

He lays on his back, both arms folded under his head.

And he doesn't take medicine for the restless nights he has. Louis has never taken any prescribed medication for the issues he's got. He just sort of deals with it.

Like everything else.

\- ♫ -

Louis wakes up to the smell of eggs and toast. He frowns as he slowly rouses to cognizance, rubbing at the sore back of his neck as he glances around his empty room.

He sits up, throws his legs over the side of the bed to prepare himself to stand. He scratches his beard, combs a hand through his sleep mussed fringe and gathers his breath before attempting to rise.

Discombobulated, Louis leaves his bedroom.

The image Louis meets when he arrives in the doorway of his expansive kitchen does more to him than it should.

Harry, clothed in a familiar button down shirt is standing behind the island stove, her long chocolate brown hair pulled up into an adorably messy bun. She's staring off into space with a spatula clasped in her right hand while the heat of the meal shes concocted rises into the air.

Louis walks into the kitchen, squinting as his fresh eyes are exposed to the bright light of what appears to be at least midday.

"Oh. Good Morning," Harry huffs out quickly. Louis greets her, takes a look at what she is making.

"I kind of, borrowed your shirt. I carry extra pants, I just... I didn't bring any other... clothes,"

Louis walks behind her, going over to the refrigerator to retrieve a bottle of water. Harry turns around to look at him with those widened eyes.

"And I made breakfast... I didn't mean to, kind of like, poke about in your things, I just, I wanted to..." Harry stutters, her hands wringing around the handle of the cooking utensil in her possession. She looks positively terrified in his presence this morning - well, afternoon. But Louis understands.

They aren't confident strangers anymore, feigning social stability. They're just people, complete with confusions, frustrations, faults, insecurities, illegitimacies, etc. The mental list could go on for ages, if Louis were to allow it. Human beings are fuck-ups. They're not good enough. It's a well known fact.

"I'll just... I'll go," Harry concludes with a despondent lilt, a nearly inaudible breath leaving her as she starts to turn toward the exit.

"No, no -" Louis rapidly stops her with a gentle hand on the small of her back. Harry turns back around, her eyes big and hopeful.

"Don't go," He tells her, wants to beg her, but.

"I'm sorry," Harry apologizes, for no real reason. Louis shakes his head with a repressed smile, lets out a nervous laugh because it's really incredible how dangerous the threat of miscommunication can be.

"No, Harry. Listen, you can take whatever you need. And you can stay as long as you'd like," Louis says, hoping to appease her apprehension. He tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear, gives her a gentle smile.

Harry blushes sweetly, mumbles a ' _thanks_ ' that Louis almost misses. Mentally he's wholly useless -  too wrapped up in the mind blowing anomaly he's just stumbled upon.

That she stayed.

\- ♫ -

They eat brunch at his dining room table, where the two of them sneak very obvious glances at one another whilst chewing toast and sipping a fresh brew.

He lets Harry take a shower, shows her to the guest quarters upstairs while he freshens himself up in his master bedroom bathroom.

His mind is swarming with thoughts of Harry as he showers, the hot mist of the water doing things to his head. He can't keep his mind from lacing around her, reminding him of everything that occurred the night before.

Mainly being the fact that his impended theory has been completely expunged. It's throwing him off completely. Harry is the only girl who has ever stayed with him after they spent the night together—  _ever_. Usually girls leave him before he wakes up, or wake him with their hasty attempts to escape. It's madness - the fact that Louis literally bet himself she would be just like the rest of them.

Louis sort of had a sardonic bargain with his own cynical thoughts - promised himself that if one of the girls ever stayed over she  _had_  to be the one since he was positive it would never happen. Poor Louis.

But now that it's happened, maybe it's a sign. He'd really like it to be a sign.

Louis washes his hair out, reluctantly laves his body of the phantom of her lips from the past evening.

He rinses off before he steps out of the shower cubicle, dries himself off with one of his big fluffy white bath towels.

He brushes his teeth, washes his face, and shaves before leaving the bathroom. He flicks off the light before he reenters his bedroom.

Louis pries through his closet, his hands flipping along different shirts and pants until he settles on vapid black jeans and a grey knit jumper.

He dresses, grabs his phone off of the coffee table and slips his coat on over his shoulders.

Harry descends down his long, elegant marble staircase, her hand holding the railing as she walks.

She wears one of Louis's sweaters and a pair of joggers that are definitely oversized on her thinner, more feminine frame. He gave her socks so that her feet wouldn't get cold and she's wearing those too - Louis is glad.

Louis retrieves her coat and shoes from the closet by the door, bestows them upon her.

Harry grabs her purse from the counter, puts on her coat at the door.

Louis shows her to his black Porsche today, opens the passenger side door for his queen and she thanks him before sitting down.

Louis then walks around to his side and gets in, turns the car on and starts out of his driveway.

Harry gives him bashful directions to her flat complex, instructing him which turns to make and which roads to take.

When they finally arrive, Harry slowly slips Louis her phone number, her cheeks a pretty periwinkle pink. Louis smiles at her, squeezes her manicured hand before she pops open the car door to leave.

Louis stays loitering in the car park, sees her off as she scuttles into the complex building.

He takes out his phone and turns it on, is sure to put her number in his address book first before he even begins to check the three-thousand messages in his inbox.

 **Louis**  -  _Hey. It's me, Baby_.

He waits patiently for her response, still calmly sitting in the parking lot below.

 **Harry**  -  _Hi, Daddy._

Louis grins widely, with those jurassic wrinkles by his eyes and the hideous smile lines that make him look like he's something far older than merely thirty years. But he doesn't even mind it at all, what she does to him. He's addicted to it, actually.

 **Louis**  -  _You get home alright?_

 **Harry**  -  _Yes, and I can see you still sitting outside the building ;)_

Louis chuckles to himself in his empty two-passenger vehicle, locks his phone and tosses it onto the seat next to him.

He takes his car out of park before he rolls out of the lot.

And somehow today, Louis just  _knows_  - even if the've only met less than twenty-four ethereal hours ago - that this is the beginning of something truly beautiful. He's ready to take the plunge - has a vehement feeling in his gut that it's going to change him for the rest of his life.

\- ♫ -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback, comments & kudos are always greatly appreciated. I'm already halfway through writing Part Two, so stay tuned if you liked it :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Harry knows this is the only way he can show her what he feels is real._
> 
> {Playlist #2 [Here](http://open.spotify.com/user/chestpaynez/playlist/3LFQtNYA6EbpgmeKcU2F92).}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading/commenting/kudo - ing. Please leave feedback if you liked it (or if you didn't) I'm always happy to hear suggestions on how to improve my writing. 
> 
> This is twenty-thousand words of smut and fluff (mostly smut) so I hope it was worth the wait! Imma try to fix any errors up in there eventually but for now I'll just leave this here for you.

 

\- ♕ -

Harry sighs, resting her elbows on the balcony railing. She looks out onto the sacred shore, taking in the beauty of the Bahamian sunset. 

The sky is a rippled canvass - filled with warm oranges and a deep, royal violet stretching through the clouds. The sun melts into the horizon, being swallowed up by the sea. Behind, her red silk robe flutters in the warm tropical breeze. 

Harry lifts the end of the joint to her lips, sucks in real slow, savors the rush as the chemicals surge through her body; blunting her senses. She feels free like this - utterly liberated. She feels like she is one of the seagulls she sees flapping their wings on the brink of the cove, able to extend her wings and fly high into the night sky, drift along the gentle wind current if she so desires.

She exhales the trail of smoke into the salty ocean air, tosses her free hand through her hair to try and keep those pesky curls at bay. The wind blows this way and that, spreading her locks back the way they were before. 

The aroma of the atmosphere shifts just slightly with the new presence. Harry feels herself smile naturally - couldn't deny her true happiness if she tried. The smell of his cologne fills the air and she holds the blunt low between her two fingers, awaiting his arrival.

Harry feels him when he comes up behind her, glides both arms around her waist and presses his chest flush against her back. Harry fights her dimples when he presses his lips to the side of her neck, the slight prickle of his beard scraping her soft skin.

"And what are you doing, Baby-girl?" Louis asks, pressing his nose into the mound of thick curls upon her head.

Harry feels herself blush at the term of endearment, looks down, shies away from the intense feeling she gets in her chest because of him. 

Though they've been going steady for two years now, Harry still hasn't been able to fathom the way her heart races whenever he touches her, the way her stomach flips and flops when she catches him staring at her, or the way her skin burns under his undivided attention. He shows her what it feels like to be walking on clouds, extricated from everything else on this planet. Louis takes her away from everything. They're together in their own little world - where nothing and no one else is real. Harry isn't sure if she'll ever be able to get used to it.

"Just... thinking." Harry murmurs, her eyes falling shut when she feels his lips against the side of her neck. Louis always knows how to turn her into a useless pile of mush - has always just innately known exactly what to do and what to say to make her feel weak.

"What about?" Louis curiously inquires, pressing their bodies closer together, and hooking his chin over her shoulder. Harry takes another hit, breathes out and watches as the release rises into the evening sky.

"Life, I guess," She replies, eyes closed as she listens to the sound of the ocean - the peaceful crash and rhythmic roll of the waves against the bank.

Louis seems to get what that means. He is, after all, the one who first had to adjust to the overflowing riches and everlasting scrutiny from complete strangers. Fame and fortune is a lot different from the insider's point of view. She can really understand the problems Louis has with it when she's right beside him, facing the world from this new perspective.

Harry wakes up day to day thinking she's still dreaming because everything about it is just unbelievable. She could never express the way she feels to him, simply because she doesn't have the words to. Harry doesn't even know how she feels. It's intense.

"It's nice to never need anything," Harry hears herself say, and her voice is soft and breathy. She wasn't always the girl on the arm of the rich and renowned record label owner, Louis Tomlinson.

She actually used to struggle to pay her bills; was a drop out, working two jobs and fighting with her roommate every month when she first met him. Life wasn't easy for her, like it was for him. And so she's extremely thankful to him for sharing what he has.

"Mhm," Louis lovingly brushes his thumb over the exposed flesh of her tummy, where his hands are rested, one above the other.

"... just - to be able to look out into the sky and see—  _that_ , is just. I don't even know how to explain it," Harry blathers, dropping the thought with a heavy sigh. She's never been very good at words, nor expressing herself.

"I know. It's beautiful, innit?" Louis agrees anyway, attune to her in such a special way nobody else ever was, is, or will be.

"I feel like if I pinch myself, I'm going to wake up," Harry mumbles, languidly, tranquility fusing through her body as the cannabis affects her senses. He isn't at all tired, just feels good. Dopey. She feels nice, warm and safe and loved in his arms. She's happy. Content. 

Louis's hand slithers down her side, gently pinching her sensitive skin between his thumb and his forefinger. Harry squeals, has always been so ticklish below her ribs. Louis chuckles fondly as she swats him. "Are you awake now?" he asks.

Harry gets the point, shakes her head at him while turning around in his arms. Louis loosens his tight hold on her, takes a tiny step back so she can look at him. Harry leans with her back against the railing, feeling weary with delight as her eyes travel over his face.

His eyes are that majestic cerulean, competing with the ocean for the deepest blue. He hasn't shaved since Sunday and he's got just the right amount of stubble on his face. Harry admires the way his chestnut fringe flutters in the wind, finds herself reaching her free hand up to brush the feather soft locks from his forehead.

Louis smiles with his eyes when he looks at her. Harry drops her hand down, nibbles at her bottom lip and shyly watches the ground between them. 

She notices the way the warm light from their bedroom pours out onto the balcony. There are so many windows in their beach house, so even when the sun sets they illuminate the shore, the water glistening and sparkling as far out as the pier.

Louis cradles her to his chest with one hand, leisurely reaches his other hand up to take the blunt from where it indolently burns in her hand. Subtly, he extracts it from between her fingers and pushes it between his own lips. He looks her in the eye as he takes the hit; long lashes quivering as his system accepts the substance.

Harry watches as he turns his head to the side, expelling the smoke away from her. She pouts just a little bit, feels the faint breeze on her skin even more so now that her robe has fallen open by her sides.

Because she's only wearing her two-piece set of lingerie underneath - a pair of matching red, black-laced brassier and panties. It's stark against her pale skin, but maybe not once she gets to tanning tomorrow. They haven't really gotten around to actually enjoying the beach yet - been cooped up inside the past couple of days acquainting themselves the various flat surfaces of the household.

She slips her knee in between both of his legs, giving him some serious bedroom eyes. Louis doesn't mind her, chuckles frivolously, before he takes another hit, and it's gone down far enough his hand touches his face. When Louis gets high he's really offhand, calm and relaxed. His eyes are dilated, but his muscles are loose and slack. She likes it best when they get high together, though.

Harry petulantly tugs him forward by the waistband of his joggers, needing him closer. Louis takes the end away from his mouth, slowly leans closer so that his bare chest presses to hers. 

Harry breathes out, pries her lips apart as Louis tilts her chin up with his fingers. Louis presses their parted lips together, smoothly exhaling. Then she inhales, her lungs expanding in her chest as he feeds her the smoke. 

Louis pulls away after a moment, caresses the right side of his face with his left hand, and uses his thumb to stroke over the swell of her ruddy cheek. Harry hums, licking her lips, blinking slow.

Louis takes the final drag, shares it with her before he flicks the end of the paper over the brink of the balcony. 

Harry lures Louis's tongue into her mouth first, breathing out through her nose as their lips slot together.

Louis makes a noise in the back of his throat, pushing his tongue in a little deeper, kissing her a little harder. Harry's hand embraces the side of Louis's face, feeling the slow motions his jaw makes as they kiss. 

Louis places his hands on her waist, fingertips soothing over her skin. And Harry feels fragile, like her knees might give out beneath her. She can never stand a chance up against Louis. He's just so sensual with her, always kisses her sweetly while he runs his hands down her body. It never fails to make her feel like she's sweltering.

The sound of their lips separating reverberates against the concrete beneath their feet. Harry's fingers press into Louis's neck, despairingly. Every time he leans away - even just for a millisecond - a needy whine outflows her. 

They could kiss for hours like this - and they do. Harry can never get enough of Louis's lips. He attacks her senses from every angle, the manly scent of his body flooding her nose, the heat of his chest smoldering everything that she is. He feels remarkable flush against her. Harry can't even breathe when he's around her - let alone this close to her.

Louis kisses her until she's flushed red, her eyes fighting to stay open amidst this ecstasy. Her lips are kiss bruised - a dark shade that reminds Louis of cherries, he once told her. 

He thumbs over her lower lip, and Harry's eyelids part only so she can catch a foretaste of his expression to know what he feels; anticipate what is to come.

She tilts her head back slightly when he starts to kiss her neck, chases the feeling of his hot, wet mouth grazing over her skin. She can't stop the breathy moan that leaves her when his hands move to her arse, both hands firmly massaging into her flesh through her garment.

"... so gorgeous, Baby," Louis whispers against her. Harry huffs out a choked whiny sound, her back strained where it's pressed to the railing. She can feel the excitement rushing through her body with the passionate treatment he gives to her. 

How he takes his time - never rushes to slowly, methodically turn her on, touch her body in all the right ways to have her gasping and trembling under his fingertips with the overpowering need for release.

His efforts pay off in the climax, of course. Harry is - always has been - a victim for foreplay. It's what makes it feel so unexplainably sating when she finally comes. It amplifies the high for her. 

And Harry really experiences Louis's adoration when he spends such a long time giving her what she needs, never rushes or feels as though her cravings aren't central. Louis puts her first in everything, and so it only makes sense that he would do all in his power to uplift her in the bedroom.

It isn't always like that. Not all men feel that way. She had in the past been convinced that if she were to be in a relationship it would be her job to please her man in most aspects of daily life, but especially in bed. Some of the other relationships Harry had led her to think that. 

She couldn't be more wrong, and now that she has Louis he always makes sure to show her that in everything they do together.

"Such a good girl... so pretty, Baby," Louis mumbles, sucking softly at her pulse point. Harry whimpers, limply splayed in Louis's arms. 

She feels his solid hands move down to the back of her thighs, slowly pulling them up to hitch her legs around his hips. Harry follows suit, and can feel how hard he is between her thighs; finds herself rocking down out of pure, driven instinct just slightly to try and gain friction between them.

Louis tuts at her as he turns to mobilize them. With his hands strongly lifting her midsection, he walks them the short distance through the open glass doors and on inside to their big bed. He kisses her the whole way, carefully lays her back down on the mattress. 

Harry has a little problem with keeping her noises in when they have sex. She gets really loud, and although Louis has tried to calm her down she just can't do it. She doesn't even realize when she starts to cry out, must be when she's deep into euphoria, drowning in the pleasure of being so close - that she loses her mind. It's okay, Louis tells her, promises her that it's hot and that he doesn't mind at all - loves it, actually.

And Harry doesn't mean to do it. She just feels good and feels like she has to express that. They've talked about it. Louis has held her close after they've come down and she's whispered to him how she feels about those things they do in bed, how she sometimes just needs to feel loved and protected and taken care of. 

And Louis has been wonderful about it all; has accepted her as she is and does his best to supply every last one her needs. Harry never feels like she can't go to Louis about anything - that she can't express how she thinks she feels even when she's in tears because she's terrified of rejection. Louis makes her feel everything she's never had in a lover, a best friend, a father figure.

He talks her through sex. It's what they've just recently started. Communication is such an important part of their unique exchange and so it really shouldn't be a surprise that it's what they've decided to do. Harry appreciates it when Louis whispers those filthy things in her ear, renders her speechless and though it might seem strange - it works for them.

Harry watches with big, trusting eyes as Louis pulls the robe off of her shoulders, rids her body of it before he starts to kiss down her chest. He nips a bruise into the pudgy flesh of her left breast, soothes over the blooming red skin with his tongue.

Her hands go to his hair, carding through it whist she whinges with quiet mewls, her body begging to be embraced with so much more than these fleeting teasings.

Harry's chin rests on the dip of her jutted collarbones, watching those fire-tinged blues as he slides his index fingers under the straps of the bra. He unhooks it from the front (it's the kind that does that and has been mighty convenient so far) and swiftly yanks the entire article off of her chest.

Harry blushes hotly as Louis takes a boob in each hand and just stares at them for a brief moment. He presses a gentle kiss to each of her two hypersensitive nipples, goes even further down to kiss the other two. 

Harry knows Louis is a sucker for her breasts, always wants to touch and kiss and rub them, play with her nipples and sometimes rest his head against her chest as he falls asleep at night. She doesn't mind. It feels nice and she likes that it's also something he can gain pleasure from too.

Harry gasps as Louis sucks her left nipple into his mouth, his tongue lavishing the soft brown bud. Her back arches just in the slightest, but in retort he gently pushes her back down against the bed. 

Harry whimpers, feels a hot upsurge of arousal pass through her as he pinches her right nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolls in softly with just enough pressure to make her keen. 

She's so wet it's not even funny - can feel it pulsing out of her hotly, like there's a fire between her thighs. Louis then licks at her right nipple while flicking her left, and his thumbnail catches on the supple brown skin - just that right amount of pain to match the pleasure and Harry sobs weakly, begging for something more.

"Daddy... please,  _please_  - touch me," she begs, spreading her legs solely out of need; trying to coax him closer, get him to feel her - feel how much she wants him.

"Shh, Baby. Daddy always takes care of you, doesn't he?" Louis kisses the softness of her flat tummy, works even further down to nudge his nose against her protruding hip bones.

Harry nods weakly, a broken cry falling from her lips when Louis pushes his thumb against her clit through her panties. They're damp with her arousal - so hot and so slick and Harry doesn't know how long he's going to tease her for - how much longer he's going to make her wait.

"You're so wet, Baby-girl," Louis says in awe. He dips his head in between her shaking thighs while his thumb rubs slow circles into her clit.

Harry's eyes are bleary with unshed tears and she's experiencing extreme tremors right now, so she can't keep her eyes open to see him when he presses his face in her warm heat. 

She doesn't get to witness the picture of the pleasure she receives when his strong tongue licks at her clit through the rough material, hot mouth moistening the fabric even more with saliva.

She whines loudly, her hips bucking off of the bed, but Louis's hands press her down into the mattress again, holding her steady.

"Daddy," Harry cries out, her lips falling open as, through the fabric, he pinches the sensitive nub in his fingers, rubs it back and forth between the two as she sobs in pleasure.

"Does Daddy make you wet, Baby? Does Daddy get you excited?" Louis tauntingly asks, probably knows damn well Harry can't respond in this tortured state. 

Her legs fall open further anyway, though, a last resort because she's so fucking wet, so ready, so desperate for him and she doesn't feel like she can endure any more of this tantalizing. Harry hates that she loves it.

"Yes,  _yes_  - Daddy, please," Harry groans, doesn't even know what nonsense is spewing from her lips - anything to get him to come a little closer, just touch her a little more, give her everything he feels she can't thrive without.

Louis finally tugs her panties down her legs, kicks his sweatpants over the edge of the bed and crawls up the mattress so he's level with her face.

Harry strokes her hands up and down his back, can only hear the pounding of her heart beat inside her head as she waits for him.

He's leaning over to the nightstand quickly, but fidgeting with the condom wrapper for far longer than she'd like. She's whispering soft ' _please_ 's into his skin - and it's hot to the touch but Harry can't stay away from him, like he's a furnace and she wants to get burned.

Louis finally rolls the contraceptive on over his thick engorged length before she hooks her legs up and around his waist, all the while impatiently panting and writhing; in need of her Daddy to show her love.

He slides through her folds, gathers the slick along his cock before he presses the tip to her hole. The tingling sensation travels through her lower half and she purrs, feels another hot gush of excitement seep out of her. 

Harry cups his face, kisses him slow, and deep as he enters her. Louis's arms hold her steadfastly, doing such a good job making her feel safe and loved.

He pushes their lips together in a hot kiss, wet tongues squelching together in Harry's mouth. She greedily accepts everything he's giving, leaning up into him when he starts to pull away.

Louis is gliding into her smooth orifice, the large girth of his cock putting a copious amount of pressure on her walls from the inside.

Harry always feels so overwhelmed when he first rocks into her. Louis is always gentle - so, so gentle with her, making sure everything feels alright before he starts to thrust in. 

Harry is so in love with him and doesn't even know where to start on her list of reasons why. But if she had to pick one thing special she's noticed about her Daddy is that he's so unbelievably respectful, so unabashedly considerate, and thoughtful without even having to try.

Louis's lips are incredibly soft as they press short kisses to her heated cheeks. He holds her closer to him, in a low murmur asks her if she's alright to start. Harry can't help the breathy laugh that escapes her as the stubble of his beard tickles the side of her face. 

"What's funny?" Louis asks, his brow furrowing as he holds still. Harry runs her hands up and down his bulging biceps, feels the taut muscle as she regathers herself.

"'Tickles, Daddy," Harry tells him, before leaning up and kissing along the column of his throat anyway. 

"You're going to kill me with those dimples, Sweetheart," He informs her, releasing a deep exhale at the feeling of Harry's lips on his skin.

And that's something she loves about their relationship. Harry loves the fact that no matter what they're doing, they are always in tune. They could be in the middle of sex and find something to laugh about, say the most random things and any given time or start talking deep feelings at the most inappropriate moments, but it would be okay. 

Harry feels so comfortable with Louis - living with Louis and having meals with Louis and sleeping in the same bed beside him each night. Harry feels as though they're falling into one another; shifting to form fit the shape of each other's mould. Louis makes her feel like she can be open and real; can say anything and have support no matter what she's dealing with without hesitation.

He just makes her feel happiness. The purest, simplest form of joy that could ever exist. He gives her companionship - a shoulder to cry on, a laugh amidst pain and attention when that's just what she needs. He's attentive, and Harry has never felt so connected to another person before. Has never been this in love, like someone was the natural harmony to her melody. Louis has her heart. He's  _it_  for her, she is confident. Louis is the one. Harry would bet her soul on it.

She rests her head back down against the pillows, smiles sheepishly up at him because she doesn't think she'll ever not feel butterflies when he says things like that.

Louis kisses her left dimple as he starts to pull out, tells her she's beautiful again.

Harry feels pleasure tear through her spine when he eases back in and out, starts flicking his hips forward in slow motions.

A whine leaves her as she lets her eyes fall shut. She feels Louis kiss her forehead tenderly as he moves, the steady rhythm of their love settling into her core.

"Feel good?" Louis asks for confirmation, gently; words muffled against her neck.

"Yeah," Harry assures him, licking her lips because they feel so dry all of a sudden.

She moans softly at the stimulation he's giving her - loves it this way. When he fucks her nice and deep; snaps his hips forward quickly, but drags out slowly. 

Harry can feel the latent pull in her lower belly already - wants to cry because she doesn't want it to end yet; never wants it to end at all, actually.

Louis slides his hands over her sides, sucks a lovebite or two into the crook of her neck. Harry knows how much he loves to show her his possession - claim her over and over again when they make love. Harry loves it too because she knows how much it means to Louis know that he's found her. Harry loves to see the marks he leaves - from the faint bruises on her pale hips to the burgundy hickeys on her chest. She is almost as obsessed with the pride of knowing she's his as she knows he is hers.

"Daddy," She gasps, her back arching as he thrusts forward again, pushing the head of his dick right against her sweet spot, pulling out almost as soon as it happens.

Louis does it again and again - never ceases to tease and torture her body when it's in this wretched state of unreachable desire.

Harry hardly even feels the way her hips rock up into him, seeking more. She never really feels quite there - not even anywhere in the room when Louis is making her feel this way. She feels like she's floating, laying in a bed of clouds while all sort of pleasure overflows her senses.

"Oh, you like that, hm?" Louis teases, fucking his tongue into her mouth the same way he's fucking her - slow, taunting.

Harry feels the friction of their bodies colliding, the way the length of his cock pushes against the walls of her passage; deeper and deeper into her before gently retracting, making the same anguishing motions over and over.

"Does Daddy make you feel good, Baby?" He asks, a hot breath puffing from his chest with each thrust he gives. Harry keens when he grazes her spot again, lashes fluttering in ecstasy as her pastel pink painted toes curl against his lower back. 

He fills her up so perfectly, like the cogs and gears of clockwork - just clicking and moving together in the way they were fashioned to. It makes her feel overwhelmed, like maybe she can't take it.

She feels young and inexperienced with him, though when they met she was far from virginity. It takes her back to when she was. Louis is the experience she never had and oh, how she wishes he was the one to give it. 

It's so hard to describe, like - she feels scared because of the pressure and the adrenaline of being underneath this man, and trusting him to provide the rush of the high no one else could. It just completely baffles her. She can't fathom this pleasure - it's so intense, so hot and sure like a flame that never dies out. No one has ever made her feel this hot in her life and she never wants this to subside, not even for a moment.

She feels a tear slip down her cheek then, the coolness of the water bringing her back to the current surrounding.

"Does Daddy's cock feel good inside of you?" Louis knows just what to say, loves to talk dirty to her just as much as she pines to hear it. Louis mouths at her collarbones, licks over a bite mark he made earlier, almost as if he were apologizing. Harry notices and feels another hot wave of arousal pump through her.

Her fingers gouge at Louis's back muscles, the warmth in her hips slowly but surely spreading up farther to her tummy. 

"Yes Daddy, o- _oh_ ," Harry groans, feels like she's just on the brink of orgasm. She can't be, wants nothing more than to stave it off even longer.

And that has to be the worst part about the sex, ironically - because she knows eventually the pleasure she feels will have to cease.

Louis starts to speed up just slightly, the headboard slamming into the drywall in the same beautiful rhythm.

" _Oh_ \- Daddy," Harry cries out, her eyes clenching tight and her back arching up into his chest.   
Louis is sweating and panting, and Harry can feel it - can hear it. He puts his hands on Harry's legs, moves them from where she's been struggling to hold them there encircling his hips and instead, pushes them down into the mattress.

Louis presses the backs of her thighs down into her front, holds her spread legs against her hips as he moves in closer. Harry feels the strain in her muscles as Louis holds her open, exposing her and instilling a dark blush that bleeds all the way from her cheeks down her chest.

Louis looms, blue eyes burning into green as he glides inside the tight of her once more. The beat of his hips slapping against the back of her thighs is just - the sound is absolutely amorous and makes Harry's heart pound against her ribcage in her chest that much faster.

The continuous drive of his hips sends vibrations from Harry's pelvis up her spine. She feels like she's going to explode, like this man above her is completely contorting her soul from the inside out.

He just keeps drawing it out all around - Louis keeps fucking her and fucking her and she's pretty certain he's just as terrified of this ever ending.

"Daddy," she drags her nails down his back like she does sometimes, has started clipping them so she doesn't hurt him too badly. She's seen the red lines she leaves - has even torn his skin a few times but neither of them notices until long after they've peaked.

Harry understands why - they're both incognizant in this state.

"You ready to come Baby? Want Daddy to make you come?" Harry gasps at his words, feels smothered when his body is plastered this close to hers.

"Oh -  _fuck_ ," Harry curses, her eyes squeezing shut and her thighs quivering with exertion as he holds them tight, keeps them right where he wants them.

"Naughty girl... using  _words_  like that," Louis growls, his hips pumping hard with emphasis to his statement.

She can feel herself getting closer and closer to orgasm, her breaths quickening frantically and her heart now racing. 

A bead of sweat rolls down her temple as Louis's cock slams harder and harder and faster into her. She can tell he's close too.

Harry's lips fall open and her eyes squeeze tight. She feels so good she can hardly breathe. The pressure deep inside her - between her hips becomes so intense, the heat curling in the pit of her belly expands and the crisp coolness of placidity blossoms throughout her mind.

"I'm gonna - gonna  _come_ , Daddy..." Harry warns him, doesn't even attempt to hold her efflorescence off any longer; knows she couldn't even if she tried.

"I know, Baby-girl. It's alright, go ahead. Come for Daddy," he whispers against her flushed skin.   
Harry's toes curl as her red lips drop open, glossy and wet with spit. Louis leans in and kisses her through it like he always does, moaning gutturally as he feels her walls clench around him; hugging him close, pulling him in impossibly deeper.

Harry comes with a soft squeak, sweet little ' _oh_ 's tumbling from her lips as she rocks against him.

Louis continually fucks through it, not once does he falter. And soon after he is grunting with his face buried against Harry's chest, mouthing at her breasts as he himself climaxes.

"Baby,  _baby_..." he's murmuring, chanting more like. Harry hears not a thing but static - constant ringing like cotton stuffed in her ears, but she opens her wet eyes and sees the way he's talking to her, his lips roaming all over her chest.

His hair falls into his eyes as he lays there atop of her, and even through Harry's vision is blurry with tears she still thinks her Daddy looks so handsome (always does, to her) in this post-sex haze.

"Daddy," Harry whimpers sluggishly, her thin arms sliding around his neck, enveloping him in warmth. They're both hot and sweaty, reek of hot heady endorphins and bodily fluids.

But Harry doesn't notice one bit as she kisses Louis hotly, sucks his wet tongue into her mouth because she's insatiable even after they've barely stopped trembling from the aftershocks.

Following shortly, Louis pulls out of her. He's so gentle, carefully closes her legs back like he found them once he's gone.

Thoroughly debauched, Harry lies on her back, threads her hand through her hair. She idly fiddles with it while Louis crawls away from her to remove and dispose of the condom. The bin is now placed beside the bed since last night, so almost as soon as he's gone he returns.

"Need anything?" Louis asks as he starts to recover the wrinkled sheets from wherever they lie underneath their bodies.

"May I have some water please?" Harry lazily asks, her words slurring together. Louis retrieves her glossy red robe from the floor and she takes it from him with her eyes closed.

Harry sits up only a bit to dress herself; tugs the flimsy material on over her shoulders, smooths down her lapels and ties the waist.

Louis returns from the other side of the room with two bottles of water from the mini fridge, places one on the bed next to her and one on the bedside table.

The doors are still open and the humid tropical air is still blowing into their room. Though the sun is long gone now, it's still very warm and feels nice against Harry's sex ravished skin.

She smiles dopily, inhales the sweet saltiness the tide brings and listens to the sound of the palm trees swaying in the wind.

She twists open the cap of the water bottle, brings it up to her lips and takes a sip. The cool rush of the water soothes her dry throat, gives her a fruitless feeling of appeasement alongside the rest of her atmosphere.

The dim lamp light on Louis's side of the bed flicks off before he climbs under the covers.

Harry gets sleepy after sex and he always slides in behind her, puts his arms around her waist until breaths even and heart beats steady. 

She lays back down one she's put the bottle on the nightstand, facing opposite of him.

Louis slowly moves closer, moulds his front to her back and drapes a protective arm over her torso. Harry breathes, eyes sealing shut as she slides her hand down under the sheet to meet his.   
Louis hums sleepily into the crook of her neck as their fingers entwine. Harry smiles, cheek pressed against the cool side of her pillow.

She falls asleep that way - with a smile on her face.

\- ♕ -

They're not together. Harry knows that. 

She knows that if he really wanted to he could drop her off, tell her one day he doesn't want to continue whatever this is they're up to.  

He could take back the credit card he gave her, the key she has to his house, the one she's got to his Lexus. Louis could end it whenever he feels like it, break her heart and send her away - back to the life she used to lead gyrating half naked in front of strangers, giving lap dances to rich old men, mustering together money for next month's rent. She's very aware of that fact.

The first few months of their relationship were rocky. She wasn't even really sure what they were back then - still doesn't, but. 

Louis was constantly travelling, going out to clubs and hotels, getting papped with pretty girls and Harry could only hope when he returned to London he would remember her. She wouldn't text him everyday, didn't want to be a nuisance to him when she knew what kind of lifestyle he lived.

Harry texted him all day after he dropped her off at home that chilly September afternoon, and nonstop for the next three days. He would text back almost instantly at first - would ask her all kinds of questions like, where she grew up, what she liked to do, what kind of music she listened to, etc. He made her laugh, sent a joke every now and then. Harry hated how much she already loved him at that point because she knew it simply wasn't smart. Playing with fire.

Eventually his texts got drier, and Harry could tell he was busy with work. Gradually she stopped hearing from him and for about two months she commenced with daily life, worked hard, paid the bills - did what she had to survive like everybody else.

That was the hardest time. 

Harry would be at the grocery store each week standing in line, would make out his profile in some tabloid magazine and couldn't help but wonder how much of the stories were true. She couldn't help but type his name in the search bar those nights she'd lay on the couch with her laptop, scroll through article after article written about him and his youthful success.

Harry was really falling for him and it was pathetic. It was very obviously the wrong thing to do. She thought if she met other guys, went out with her roommate, Niall, on Saturday nights to get wasted and party that she'd be able to get her mind off of him. She'd sleep with other guys, but none of them said the right things, could make her feel as good, nor make her come quite as hard as when she was with him. 

She ended up declining Niall most of the time, telling her best friend she would rather stay at home than go out anymore. (Those were the nights Harry would spend hours in limbo with herself, scrolling past his contact in her address book unsure of whether or not she should even try to reach him.)

Harry felt like she was nothing in comparison to him. She was just a stripper - a poor average girl who caught his attention one fateful night. He was the rich, famous, strikingly handsome record label holder with multiple mansions and sports cars and just - it was so painfully clear to her he didn't  _really_  want her. Harry was hurting herself because he never promised her anything, never gave her any reason to believe he wanted her. He wasn't in love with her or ever even admitted to wanting to see her again. 

And she sometimes fantasized about him coming back to her, showing up at her door one day to take her away from this life. She could only laugh at herself, shake her head at the reflection in the mirror as she applied her makeup for the night, simply because of how pitiful she was.

It wasn't until November that she heard from him again. Louis called her one night, was very obviously drunk. Harry couldn't even bring herself to be offended or off put - was happy enough simply because he'd called her after so long. 

He was slurring through his sentences, murmuring about his night and what had happened up to that point. Louis told her he was in New York, told her about the clubs he'd gone to and that he was now back at his hotel for the night.

Harry listened intently as he confided in her, felt the strings of her heart tug when he started telling her about how lonely he felt, how hard it was to be surrounded by crowds of people each day but to be utterly alone in the end. 

Harry felt compassion for him when he explained how awful it felt sleeping alone, because she understood. She was alone in her own bed an ocean away, had laid down to rest in his over-sized sweater when his call had come through.

She went quiet on the line for a moment, remembers she was deep in her thoughts about how he must have felt - was sickeningly desolate just empathizing with him. 

Louis had begged her to talk to him, murmured over the interference of the line that he had no one else to go to, said no one would understand how he felt or ever admit to feeling the many pains of having it all.

Harry swallowed thickly, had sensed the genuine disparity in his voice and it sent shivers down her spine. She knew then there was nothing she could do about the infectious feelings she'd grown for him.

Harry remembers that night so well, feels her stomach flutter whenever she thinks about it; how vulnerable her Daddy was, how he needed her just as much as she needed him. From that moment Harry felt so much better because she at least had some knowledge he was still thinking about her. Those sardonic thoughts of his abandonment had been somewhat appeased. She didn't get her hopes up; knew very well that his call didn't change the extent of the hectic lifestyle he lived and that she couldn't wait around for him forever.

And she didn't have to. 

He came back in December, called her from his mother's home in Doncaster just several hours away. He told her he would be in London in a few days because some friends were throwing him a party for his thirty-first birthday. He invited her and she said yes, of course. He told her he would pick her up a few hours before so they could catch up and such. Harry agreed to that too.

And she wanted to be angry with him - felt stupid for ever thinking he would be interested in her romantically and waiting for him to call or text for and pining from afar for months before hearing of him. But the moment she saw him standing there, arms folded over his chest with his back leaning against his Ferrari - she just couldn't feel any other emotion but joy.

He took her out to eat at a fancy five-star Italian restaurant, made casual conversation with her while they waited for their food. Harry laughed at his jokes, blushed hard at his coy compliments and tried her hardest not to be a complete dork in front of him (but it was no use). 

At the party Louis was beside her all night, introduced her to other high profiles, famous models, actors and actresses, and artists on his label. Harry - being a big fan of Zayn's - was absolutely trembling when she got to see those dark tattoos and glorious cheekbones up close.

She did her best to not appear out of place but it was very obvious. She clung to Louis, since she didn't know anyone else there. They all seemed so cool, so confident and she was just. Well, Harry. She wasn't like all of them (and Harry thinks that's exactly why Louis was even spending his time with her).

Halfway through the night Louis wanted to leave, told her he wasn't having any fun and Harry at first hadn't understand how he couldn't be having any fun at his own party. She didn't argue with him - instead, followed behind him out to his car. The party his friends had thrown for him didn't falter in the slightest with his absence (and Harry thinks she now understands why).

The two of them ended up back at Louis's place, sipping champagne and dancing together in his living room to the beat of bad eighties music.

After that night everything was simple. They grew closer without even realizing it. 

Louis started texting her everyday, calling her once a week, visiting her often; showing up at her flat when he was in the vicinity because he just ' _wanted to see her beautiful face'_  and who was Harry to deny him? 

He would call Harry if he just wanted someone real to talk to, have a conversation without feeling judged for it. He talked to Harry whenever he was stuck in a rut, told her all his deepest thoughts and sorrows. Louis would unload all of his baggage, put the weight of his troubles on her and she would gladly take them - would do anything to help him out. Whatever it took to make him feel better; more grounded and secure in his own skin. That was all she ever wanted for him.

Louis told her about work, explained how much pressure it was sometimes because everyone was criticizing his executive decisions, advisers questioning his authority whenever he turned his back even though he knew he'd done such an impressive job with the company so far - simply because they thought he was too young, hadn't had enough experience in the business world. 

Harry didn't always understand his frustrations, but she let him vent to her, hummed along and always supported his side of the argument because she could tell how hard it was for him to spend all day in an office building with these people and not be able to tell them off simply because it would be unprofessional.

Harry didn't mind whatsoever. She cared about him was now strongly convinced that would never change.

He flew over for her birthday, though she'd begged him not to. Harry had once somewhere amongst their many conversations told him she didn't have a car, and Louis had come to her birthday dinner, kissed her on the cheek and dropped the keys to the newest Lex into her palm. 

He invited Harry over the nights he spent in London - the nights he couldn't bear to sleep alone. She never turned him down.

And that type of thing went on for six months.

Eventually he made the offer, once the long distance calls and nights of intimate pretending just weren't enough. He told Harry he wanted to take her to America with him. Which, she wasn't sure about at first; knew she wouldn't be able to just up and leave her responsibilities. But when she told him that, he simply provided the ultimate solution— for her to move in with him.

Harry knew if she lived with him she would never have financial problems anymore, knew he would take care of her and that it was what he'd been trying to get her to agree to this entire time. Just that he never knew how to say it.

And they had most definitely fallen into this - whatever this was -  _way_  too quickly. Harry was only twenty-two at the time. She was definitely too young to be considering anything this serious with a man, let alone a man she had only met less than a year ago. She wanted to, of course, but just. She was scared of what would happen. Didn't want to get her heart broken because it was a very impending possibility.

But here she is, laying awake beside him in their bed, breathing in the warm tropical morning air.

Louis has never promised her the world - has already given it to her just because. Harry finds it scary how much she loves him because that's the one thing he isn't sure about. She loves him. She knows he loves her two, but. They've never told each other those three words because of what it means.

Harry knows Louis doesn't want to scare her off. His heart is not expendable (though he makes it seem so). Harry does know how hard it is for him to play his part - fulfill his role as Louis Tomlinson while also having the genuine feelings that just come with being a part of humanity. Harry wishes she could take all of that ache away - thinks she could bear it for him if he only trusted her with it.

But Louis is hurt. He's calloused. His heart's been broken so many times and even though Harry is as gentle with it as possible, she knows she won't be able to heal him on instant. It's going to take some time before he starts to trust her as much as she trusts him. Harry understands and doesn't press him on it when the topic of ' _them'_ comes up.

She tries to stay contented with the way her Daddy spoils her; flies her to Paris on his private jet for unlimited shopping sprees, buys her pretty jewelry, new shoes and fancy handbags, the way he takes her on expensive holidays to tropical islands, and keeps her bank account full so she never has to worry about working or coming up with the money to pay for anything.

She tries to accept the fact that it's his way of showing her how much he cares, how much he loves her even though he can't bring himself to say the words aloud - can't bring himself to make this real because there's something very terrifying about this fantasy becoming a reality.

Harry glances over to where he lays next to her, his cheek mashed into the pillow, baby soft chestnut locks splayed out across his forehead and spilling into his eyes. His tanned back rises, then falls steadily and Harry watches, a tiny smile creeping up her face at the sight.

She gets up after another moment, heads into the bathroom for a shower.

She peels the robe off of her shoulders, let's it pool into a glossy pile of red by her feet. She brushes her teeth while waiting for the shower to heat up. She's always enjoyed bathing in unnaturally hot water. At the double sink she washes her face, lathers the sweet smelling soap into her cheeks and forehead before rinsing and towel drying her skin.

She holds back the shower curtain and steps inside, the warm mist seeping into her pours. Harry likes to use his body wash, loves the deep musky masculine scent and the color and texture of the blue gel as it spills into her palm. She uses her pink loofah to clean her body, and the slightly rough texture paired with the heat of the scalding water leaves her pale skin blushing with rosy hue.

Harry washes her hair with her aromatic strawberry cream shampoo, spends more time sniffing the open bottle than anything else. She finally rests the bottle on the tiled floor of the cubicle and gets to work, soothing her fingers into her scalp to rid her long chocolate curls of the previous day's sweat and debris.

After she's squeaky clean and smells like fruit she turns the faucet handle left to shut off the water. Harry steps out and grabs one of the white towels from the rack and drapes it over her shoulders.

She moisturizes her hands and feet, then uses some of the special cream the nice ladies at the salon gave her to rub on her waxed legs to keep them smooth for as long as possible. She had them done before the trip so she didn't have to shave at all during the duration of it.

Then, Harry leaves the bathroom. She notices her beau is still fast asleep, so she keeps as quiet as possible as she crosses over to where their luggage is sprawled out over the lush carpet.

Harry unzips their large black suitcase and retrieves her white two piece swimsuit from underneath the pile of countless others all various styles, colors and sizes. She tugs her delicate peach see-through beach shawl from the case as well, watches the flimsy fabric flutter in the gentle breeze.

Harry folds the clothing up and she then takes her carry-on make-up bag into the bathroom alongside them.

She makes faces at herself in the mirror as she rubs moisturizer into her healthy pink cheeks. Harry doesn't use concealer nor foundation when she's on holiday in a hot location. Which is why she has to use SPF infused creams to make sure she doesn't render herself helpless against the blazing waves of the tropical sun. 

She leans over the sink as she applies a bit of mascara to her eyelashes, doesn't like to wear too much makeup when she's around Louis. Harry feels beautiful in his presence (especially since he's constantly telling her so) and has never felt insecure about her looks enough to rely on his approval or anything. She feels pretty when she looks at her reflection and that feeling is solely hers to relish in.

Harry adorns her lips in a nice shade of red lipstick, likes the way it looks in contrast to her bleached skin. It isn't at all far from her natural cherry like lip color and so it doesn't appear out of place on her face. When she's done she puts the cap back over the tube, drops the lipstick back into her make up pouch and zips it all up.

After she's dressed and made up - feeling good when when she looks at herself in the mirror, Harry leaves the bathroom, slips out of the bedroom with one final glance at her tuckered Daddy.

Their beach house is located on a small island in the Caribbean. It's big enough for a whole family, but right now it's just the two of them here. Louis always takes a holiday away for a week or two when he's feeling especially stressed. He tells Harry he doesn't work well or do anything productive when he's experiencing that kind of mood. 

They're here for two weeks, living on this private white beach underneath the burn of the hot sun. Harry loves it here, loves that Louis willingly brought her along to this beautiful place he owns. She feels so special, knowing how many other girls would probably kill to be in her position.

She connects her phone to their blue-tooth stereo speakers so she can cook breakfast while she hums along to her favorite song. Harry puts her damp hair up into a pony tail and then washes her hands at the sink. 

Harry goes into the stainless steel refrigerator and takes out the tomatoes, green peppers and onions, the cheese and the eggs and makes them both omelettes to go with some of the diced pineapples and mango she chopped up yesterday for an afternoon snack.

Louis emerges just in time to eat; sits down at the table when Harry places his meal in front of him, presses a kiss to his sleep ruffled fringe before returning to the kitchen.

"Good Morning," Harry says to him when she sits down with her own plate and two empty glasses for the orange juice.

"'Morning, Angel," Louis replies, as he waits for her to get settled before he picks up is fork to eat. (Harry realizes it's the little things like that which tells her all she needs to know. It really ought to be enough.)

"Did you sleep well?" She asks, as she takes her fork and knife and starts to cut away at her eggs.

"Like a rock," Louis hums, as he pours himself a glass of the juice. 

"Good," Harry smiles, feels elated that he got a good nights rest. She's been very... almost motherly toward Louis since they've been together. She tries her best to feel useful and to look after him in her own way to match the dynamic of the care he shows her. Harry sees to it that he eats proper meals each day, and is constantly making sure he's happy and healthy and feeling well. Harry feels it's her duty to take care of him. But she loves him so much she really doesn't mind.

"Want to go swimming later?" She stabs a piece of pineapple with her fork, brings it up to her lips. 

"Sure," Louis replies, calmly. He eats slowly - always does for some reason. Harry watches him cut his omelette into sections, separating them each out before he chooses one and scoops it up. 

She picks at her bowl of fruit, the sour juice of the yellow fruit tingling her tastebuds as the flavor sweetens.

"I've got to make a call first," he remembers, scratching the back of his neck with his other hand. 

Harry hums, chewing another bite. "I'm gonna do a bit of sunbathing," she tells him, a smirk working its way up her face. 

Louis glanced up, stifling a bothered reaction. He almost smiles, but decides against it, choosing instead to look back down at his plate. Harry is no novice to how much Louis loves her body. The mere thought of her laying sprawled out in the tropical sun has him flushing. She thinks it's cute - he's cute.

"Make sure you use suntan lotion," He switches the focus, which is also very adorable. Louis looks up at her as he chews a piece of mango.

"... don't want you getting burned,"

Harry smiles, loves how concerned her Daddy always seems to be for her wellbeing. They take care of each other. She knows there isn't anyone else in this world she'd rather be with when he's giving her such a heartfelt look. It's genuine. Though it's not easy for him to pour his heart out to her, he does it in the only way he knows how. He treats her like a queen. 

"I will," Harry assures him with a gentle smile, before nibbling at the egg on her fork. Then breakfast commences. 

 - ♕ -

In the bedroom, Harry retrieves her bottle of suntan lotion from her purse, also grabs her shades before slipping out of the house. 

She closes the front door behind her and takes a deep breath of the tropical air. She can't move just yet - is captivated by her surroundings. 

It's so damn beautiful. Harry shakes her head to herself, still in awe of how her life became this phantasmagoria. The sky is a cloudless blue the ocean reflects and Harry has to catch her breath each time she steps through the doorframe. She feels the warm breeze overtake her, lift the curls from her shoulders, tug the hem of her shawl away from her body.

Harry takes a step forward. The patio dips right off into the beach and the soft spongy texture of the white sand sinks under the soles of her feet.

She revels in it for a short moment, sighs as warmth engulfs her from all around. This trip has elicited all types of pleasure in Harry she can hardly wrap her mind around. She's just so exultant here - knowing everything she does and feeling everything she feels. She's comprehensively convinced there isn't anything in this world that could damped her spirits - nothing can drag her down. 

She pulls one of the sun chairs from under the palm trees out into the sun, spreads her beach towel over the surface before sitting down. Harry slides her sunglasses onto her face, then pulls her legs up to rub them with globs of SPF saturated lotion.

Louis appears sooner rather than later, his silhouette blocking out the sun. 

He's got his phone between his ear and shoulder when he takes the bottle from Harry. She frowns, squinting to see him as the sun blots out her vision.

Louis doesn't provide her with an explanation, just makes a turning motion with his index finger, while he sends ' _mhm_ 's and ' _okay_ 's to the person on the other end of the call.

Harry understands him without needed much else, flips onto her back with her hands folded under her chin. 

"What did he say about it?" Louis casually asks into the phone as he squirts a handful of suntan lotion into his palms.

Harry hums when she feels his hands against her back, fingers rubbing the thick liquid into her skin. He massages her shoulders, then shoulder blades, traces the dips of her spine, travels down even further to her hips.

She jumps when Louis gently squeezes at both of her sides, a futile attempt of hers to escape his grasp. She squeaks pitifully, burying her face in her arms in fear of his atrocious inclination to start tickle fights with her.

Luckily, he doesn't. Harry exhales in relief as he continues to bathe her skin in a shimmering sheen of lotion, presses his lips to her nape before placing the bottle at the end of the chair.

"If he told you 'no', then the answer is 'no', I'm afraid," Louis huffs, not a hint of sincerity in his voice. Harry smiles to herself, loves how she even knows the tone of Louis's voice and what he means with each rise and fall of his intonation.

"Ah - no 'but's. He's only looking out for you. If he doesn't think it's a good idea then I agree with him," Louis tells, who Harry thinks has to be Zayn because he's always the first to ring his boss when one of his managers doesn't let him do something. 

Harry can fairly hear his muffled voice from the other end, rambling on about how he doesn't agree. Louis chuckles and Harry can tell its final.

"I appointed him for a reason, Malik. It's his job to look after you when I'm away, isn't it? So listen to him." Louis sounds so firm, the tone of his voice so definitive. Harry loves the way he gets when he's taking care of business. He sounds so sure of himself and never wavers - not even for a moment. It sends sparks through Harry's body.

She cranes her neck to see him, peeks out from the top of her shades to catch a glimpse of his facial features. He's got a whimsical smile on his face, is shaking his head at his Baby to share the amusement with her.

Harry smiles in return, watches him comb the hair out of his eyes, part his lips and close his eyes in frustration when Zayn won't even let him get a word in.

Harry laughs lightly, turns over so she can tie the strings of his swim trunks. She does so, constructs two bunny ears with the white strings and Louis gives her a tender look.

She kisses his cheek before lying back down. Harry can now see that he's shaved, can appreciate how much softer and younger he looks this way. He's always beautiful - looks handsome either with or without the facial hair. But Harry has a special place in her heart for a smooth faced Louis. 

His blue eyes flick over to her, and a warm hand graces her shin. Harry feels fuzzy inside and out, with the sun beating down on her and her Daddy sitting here beside her. She couldn't imagine a better reality.

"I'll talk to you later, Zayn," Louis tells his artist with finality, doesn't hesitate to hang up on the younger man.

Harry raises her eyebrows, like she can't believe he just did that. Really, though, she shouldn't be. She knows her Daddy is very sassy when he wants to be. 

"That was mean, Daddy," Harry giggles into her palm, smearing her lipgloss.

Louis shrugs, standing up. "I'm on vacation," he justifies.

Harry huffs out a breath as he walks back into the house. 

God, she really loves that man. 

She relaxes back against the slats in the chair, crosses her legs as she reaches underneath the chair to retrieve a fashion magazine.

Harry flips open to a good page, lets her body melt into the seat and her body accept the heat of the skies.

\- ♕ -

"I hate you," Harry grits through her pearly white teeth. She presses two fingers against her eyelids to try and rid them of the salty burn.

"No you don't," Louis replies with a sly smirk, from where he's wading in the clear blue water, head tilted back to catch the rays of the sun.

Harry wraps her arms around herself under the water, sighs into the cool breeze.

"I didn't splash water on you," she reasons, trying to make the man accountable for his actions. Right, like that would ever happen.

Louis huffs a laugh, plucks the water with two fingers. Salty drops land on Harry's nose. She wipes her hand down her face, rolls her eyes at his childishness. 

"Anyway..." she trails, shoving her toes underneath the wet sand. 

"I think I want you to meet my mum," Harry suggests, leaning her upper body back further into the water.

Louis doesn't reply at first. He sinks into the water, eyes clenched to shield his corneas from the saltiness. Harry rubs her sore eye, sighs, as she waits for him to resurface.

He shakes his wet hair out like a dog, flicks it out of his eyes. He swipes his hand down his face, blinking widely to try and focus on Harry's face.

"What was that, Darling?" Louis inquires, taking a deep breath.

"I said, 'I would like you to meet my mother'," Harry reiterates, only slightly irritated with his immaturity. Louis is like a child sometimes, but that's part of the reason Harry is so in love with him. 

He's so many sides and angles and edges. He's everything all at once - one intricate human being Harry feels so much for. She's in love with every bit of him; doesn't mind the childishness as long as he'll sit in all seriousness and listen to her deepest concerns.

"Oh okay. When would that be?" Louis asks, chewing his bottom lip. Harry isn't quite sure. She didn't think he'd be so cordial about it. 

Harry can't always foresee how Louis is going to react to certain things. He isn't fond of the labels - the whole 'boyfriend', 'girlfriend' thing. He doesn't talk to Harry about his past girls, nor does he mention anything about the word 'love'. 

He's very smart, very cautious of his words and typically dances all around those topics during their discussions. He's good at that, and Harry believes with all her heart the skill only comes from years of practice. 

It's a little sad. Harry wishes he hadn't had to experience the pain of rejection before finding true happiness. She wishes she were the one to introduce him to this thing called 'love'. Harry has never promised Louis that she'll never hurt him - doesn't feel like she needs to. 

It's obvious, has been from the moment blue eyes met green that she was different. Harry was determined to show him that; still is. She tries her best to always show Louis her true feelings. Only that's getting harder and harder to do when all that's on her mind these days is her inevitable, infinite future with this man. 

Harry wants to talk about it. She's letting it eat her alive. She wants everything with Louis and wants him to know that for sure - know that she isn't messing around with him. 

She wants labels - doesn't require them, but they would be  _nice_. Harry wants an engagement, marriage and a honeymoon, a big house in the country side with dogs and kids and, and—  _love_. Harry wants love with Louis like no other. She feels it deep, a roaring flame burning bright in her soul. She wants their world to be the only world. She never wants to be without knowledge that they'll always be together; that they'll always have each other no matter what. 

These fleeting sentiments aren't enough for Harry. She feels like this is the only thing they don't comply on - the one disconnection between such a beautiful relation.

And sometimes talk of domesticity, meeting family or sharing romantic thoughts sets Louis's mind off. It's like, whenever Harry says something a little too close for comfort, the older man visibly shuts down, his body tenses, his lips purse. He doesn't feel ready to discuss those type of things - Harry worries if he ever will. 

"I don't know, she's just... she's been wondering when I was going to introduce you two," Harry says, carefully wording the statement. She doesn't ever want Louis to feel uncomfortable.

"That's fine. We can arrange something for next time we're in London," Harry tries to hold back her dimpled smile at those words. She just... she remembers when she used to hear him say 'next time  _I'm_  in London' over the grainy speaker of her mobile phone. And now they're together, so it's ' _we_ '. 

 Even if they aren't  _really_  together or anything, Louis takes her everywhere with him - all the hectic travel, sports cars, planes, jets, limousines, yachts, etc. Louis always keeps her by his side so wherever he goes, she goes. Harry's dreams really have come true. It's still so unfathomable.

"Sounds good," Harry murmurs, the heat of the sun making her drowsy. Louis swims over to her, must be feeling lonely in her absence.

He slips his arms around her waist, the trickle of the water around them is the only source of sound amidst the washing tide.

"Your hair smells nice," Louis lazily mumbles, nose pressed against Harry's curls. They're damp at the tips where it touches the sea. 

Harry feels his fingers glide through her locks, feels him press his lips to her neck and tug her shoulders back against his chest.

Harry smiles, a breathy laugh leaving her. Louis's arms end up around her waist somehow, wrapping her up in his tender embrace. 

Harry breathes, which is all she can really do these days. Sometimes she doesn't feel like there's anything more she can do reaction-wise. She's just as in love with his touch as she's in love with him. Louis as a whole is already too much for a delicate flower to handle. She has to take a step back and  _breathe_ , lest she fall unconscious. He takes more than just her breath away.

The picture of sky blue is etched into Harry's mind. Her neck extends as her head rests on his shoulder, eyes watching the birds as they fly by. She's only twenty-four and she's witnessed much more than other girls her age, she's sure. Harry has been out with Louis, has seen the world as it truly is.

She's experienced the good and the bad, both with and without him. She's living life to the fullest now, and even though things weren't always that way Harry tries her best not to wallow in the past. 

Harry turns in his arms, presses a salty kiss to his nose before pulling out of his reach.Louis watches her leave, and even though Harry can't see him, she knows he's got a smile on his face. They've done nothing but smile these past few days. Harry thinks her cheeks are the first part of her to experience the long term damage of his love.

\- ♕ -

They wade in the water until they're both pruned.

Louis takes her to have lunch on the pier, to a small five star restaurant where the lights are dimmed and the salmon is grilled. Harry watches the water from all around them as they eat, Louis offering pieces of his meal to her on his fork.

Harry knows he has a problem with her settling for salads when they can afford to feast like kings. Harry is simple; easy to please. She doesn't think a life of glitz and glamor is for her - though she isn't complaining. She did survive twenty-two years without Louis's services.

(She's still very independent, takes care of herself the way in which she desires. She doesn't like to think of herself as Louis's sugar baby or anything. Even if she is pretty financially dependent on the older man. Somewhere in the back of her mind Harry still entertains the outright lie that if Louis ever grows tired of her she will be able to make it out alright.)

Harry slings her bag over her shoulder, takes her phone out to snap pictures of Louis's beside the life size lobster caricature propped up just outside the door of the restaurant. Louis flexes beside it, kisses its cheek while Harry cackles like a maniac - neither of them bothered by the looks the other guests send them. Joy is something special that no one else can take away from them. They're in their own world - planet Harry and Louis where and nobody else speaks their language or can breathe the same air as them.

Louis slips a possessive arm over Harry's shoulder as they walk back down the boardwalk. She nuzzles her face into his neck, inhaling his cologne. Her sunglasses slide down her face, and he pushes them up for her, pecking her lips while he's at it.

Harry feels like her heart is going to explode. She's blissfully content beside him, knows there's nothing that could ever revoke her joy.

Louis holds her hand as they approach the front door. Harry blushes when she looks down, sees the way his hand looks tangled with her own. It's those tiny things that make her realize she's so gone for him. It scares her a bit, because she's fallen so hard - too hard, too fast. Now there's no going back.

She's utterly helpless. There's nothing that can be done to reverse this or lessen the effect of being in love with Louis Tomlinson. It's over. This only ends one way. And Harry is willing to let her heart be broken for him.

\- ♕ -

"'Skin's so soft," Louis hums, his lips pressed to the crook of Harry's neck. She giggles at the way his breath tickles her skin, cups her hands together beneath the bubbles.

His hands are on her waist, smoothing down her sides to rest over the curve of her hips.

"'Cause I moisturize," Harry informs him, leaning back into his chest. This is what Harry loves best. They're sitting in the Jacuzzi-sized bath tub together at the end of a long day of amusement. This vacation has been everything Harry herself never thought to dream of. She's in a constant state of peaceful disbelief.

She lifts her hands out of the water, bringing a handful of bubbles with her. Harry places them on her face, forming them into the shape of a beard around her lips. Louis chuckles against her neck when he notices, holds her even tighter.

"I moisturize too," Louis claims, shifting in the water, pressing himself even closer to her back. The warmth of his body heat radiates onto Harry, makes her feel safe, and loved.

"After you shave," Harry bends her neck back just slightly to make eye contact with her Daddy. Louis runs a hand up her chest, rests it against her collarbones.

"... Love it when you're all smooth," she comments, kissing his jawline.

Louis preens, his eyes closing while his thumb strokes a gentle line across Harry's sternum. He doesn't speak for a bit of time after that. Harry revels in his warmth, inhales the saccharine smell of his aftershave. These little things are what make Harry fall even more in love with him every day. She thinks she'd like to grow old with him.

"Maybe you ought to shave too, Babe," Louis says then, bringing Harry back down from whatever realm in which she floated. She pauses, confused for a moment before she feels Louis's hand wiping her beard away from where it's been, sluggishly melting down her chin.

Harry squeezes his knee under the silky bathwater, jostling a few Plumeria petals from where they drift on the surface. The older man sniggers, his fingers stroking the side of her neck now.

Louis's heart beats steadily behind her, chest moving barely with every breath he takes. It's lovely to have him so close – to know him so intimately. Harry takes pride in the fact that only she has memorized the dip between Louis's collarbones, can trace the bumps of Louis's spine behind the dark of her eyelids; has etched each one of his smile lines into her heart. His presence is a comfort Harry never thought she'd have.

She really wants to tell him those three beautiful words.

Harry feels herself turn just enough to level their lips. She gives him a fleeting glace, takes in his warm blue eyes and supple pink lips. She feels her breath hitch before she surges forward on impulse. Their lips collide, but Louis keeps it soft and slow. His hand steadies the kiss she instigated, cupping her jaw to guide the motion of her tongue.

Harry always gets so overwhelmed – just completely overcome by this feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her heart starts to pulse faster in her chest because she's just so happy. She's delighted and astounded and enchanted. Harry doesn't know what to do with this joy he has. It's overflowing.

Louis pulls away, gives her a gentle peck on the lips, then on her temple, then moves a bit so his arms are back down around her waist. She is in no way sated of her primal need for his lips, but she settles against his chest anyway.

Louis takes the washcloth from the side of the tub, soaks it in the water before he grabs the bar of rectangular soap from the dish and meshes the two together.

He washes her with care, presses his lips her shoulders as he runs the cloth over her sun kissed skin.

And it's very obvious he feels the same.

Louis laves over her in between kisses and gentle murmurs. Harry is blushing and more than craving a taste of his lips by the time the thick bath towels are unravelled.

She watches him with hooded eyes as he drapes the towel over her shoulders, sits her down on the edge of the tub while he pats down her legs with another.

Harry smiles to herself, stares bashfully at her pruned fingers as Louis exits the bathroom. He returns not a moment later with Harry's rose scented lotion - his favorite.

She nibbles her lower lip until it's red because he's kneeling down on the bath mat before her, and snapping open the lid of the bottle.

Harry holds the edge of the tub behind her, eyes glued to his motions as he squirts a glob of the pink moisturizer into his palm.

Louis takes her right leg first; hitches it over his hip. He starts at her thigh and works his hands down over the bump of her knee, then even further down to her ankle and over the arch of her foot. Harry already feels her breath quickening in her chest.

Louis doesn't look up at her until he's started the other leg. His lips are resting against her knee when his blue eyes flick upward and catch the way Harry's eyelashes flutter under his attention.

Harry releases her abused bottom lip from between her teeth. As Louis's strong hands massage the lotion into her slightly tanned skin, his lips roam the long expanse of her legs.

The bathroom smells like flowers, now. Louis is slightly dazed by the fragrance, rubs the side of his face up against Harry's hairless thigh. She hums, threading her hand through his thin brown locks. She strokes his scalp with the tips of her fingers, soothes her thumb over his forehead.

Louis looks up at her like a puppy - with big, longing eyes. It reminds Harry of the first night they met.

Louis had been so sweet, so gentle, so vulnerable, that night. He had glanced up into Harry's eyes like she was a goddess - made her feel like one too.

Harry never wanted a man like Louis to feel that way. She wanted him to embrace who he was, feel comfortable and confident in his own skin and never like he had to be at her mercy. Or any woman's mercy.

She has experienced it before - with her occupation. She had felt the heat of a stranger, felt as though - in his eyes - she was the solution to his loneliness; his  _emptiness_. It was sad. Harry really couldn't do much to help at all. It was all the illusion of love; of intimacy and of affection. Harry never wanted to believe she herself was an active participant in something so disheartening.

She really wishes she could just–tell Louis how much she loves him. Just so he knows he doesn't have to do anything to keep her around or to convince her to stay. She's with him - she's here for as long as he'll have her. This is everything and more to Harry. She wants nothing more than to be able to say that without fear of reprisal.

She looks into his eyes as he stands, blinks as he rises in front of her. Louis places his hand on her cheek, leans in and kisses her lips. Harry melts into it, all remains of her resolve crumbling instinctively.

"Thank you," Harry breathes when he pulls away. Louis looks down at her, lust in his eyes.

He smirks, placing the pink bottle of lotion on the edge of the bath. Harry huffs a bothered laugh, doesn't really think she needs to thank Louis for pampering her like he does. He's told her that. But she thanks him anyway.

Harry hasn't yet figured out how to thank Louis for everything he's done for her - starting with that first night in the back room of the club. So she thanks him copiously every single time she deems necessary, just to set her heart at ease. Harry is so bountifully beholden to him, and hopes she never gets caught up in the luxury of this life. She would have  _nothing_  without him. Quite literally.

Louis shakes his head, takes her hand and helps her stand. Harry clutches the towel around her chest, but really - she doesn't mind being naked in his presence.

She feels dauntless around him. Bold. Intrepid in all things. Like she can do anything as long as he's behind her. She's just a fiery soul and a fearless heart. She feels like they're both so intertwined and so akin to each other that it's ridiculous - and maybe a little frightening.

She doesn't know what she'll do if he ever changes his mind.

Louis pulls her hand and she follows along. He flicks off the light to the bathroom.

She sits down on the edge of the bed, the tips of her hair dripping cool water onto her shoulders. She stares at her pink toenails as Louis heads over to the other side of the room.

Louis rifles through their suitcase, tugs out a t-shirt and panties for her to wear. He grabs a pair of briefs for himself before returning. Harry watches him the whole time, smiles as he steps around the piles of clothes they've both left strewn about the room over the course of the past few days. They'll have to pick them up eventually.

They'll have to pack up eventually - have to get on that plane and fly back home. Pretty soon the world will have to be real again. Harry doesn't think she likes the idea of that very much.

"Thanks," Harry mumbles, taking the clothes from her Daddy. Louis slides he pants up his legs while Harry pulls the shirt on over her head.

Louis checks his phone as a responsible businessman should, types a response to a text before hooking it up to charge. Harry watches him as she dresses, tugs her underwear up her thighs and fits them snugly over her hips.

Harry takes the hair tie from her wrist and throws her hair forward, combs her fingers through it, gathers it up, and twists it into a spiral before she stretches the band around the thick curls. She puts her hair into a half-arsed bun, then lays back against the pillows.

Louis falls into bed next to his girl, the mattress bouncing with the weight of his body.

Harry turns onto her side, facing the man. She tucks her knees up to her front, and on the pillow rests her head against her folded hands.

"Can I ask you something?" Harry asks, tucking a loose strand of her hair back behind her ear before sliding her hand back under her head.

"Yeah,"

"Do you remember that time we went to LA for Liam's birthday party?"

Louis thinks for a moment, scratches at his chest. Harry gazes across the bed at him, her ankles crossing at the foot of the bed. She feels too far away from her lover, like if Louis isn't breathlessly pressed to her something is wrong. Like, they're having a fight or something.

So Harry scoots even closer as Louis hums out his response. She rests her head against Louis's pillow; knows he won't mind.

"I remember. That was the first time we got papped together," he added, reaching out to touch Harry's shoulder.

She doesn't say anything for a minute. She's remembering the event herself. After a long and fearless battle to finally establish their relationship, everything had seemingly changed overnight. Harry had gone from eating takeout every night, stripping in nightclubs on the weekends and pining from her bedroom window to waking up next to the ocean in a king sized bed beside the rich and famous record label owner, Louis Tomlinson.

And Harry will say she doesn't feel affected by Louis's status - will insist that her feelings were not, are not and never will be superficial or sustainable through his wealth or his accomplishments. She's already in love with him and the way soft snores escape his slightly parted pink lips when he's especially knackered after a long day at work. Harry promises that it isn't any of the perks that have encouraged her desiring for his requited love. No one would ever ask to bear this pain of uncertainty.

But this life is something totally different. Harry never took into consideration the fact that she could possibly show up in the news. She never thought she would see her own blurry, pixelated face in one of those weekly pop culture magazines. It was scary, the first time it happened. Louis had explained to her that there were going to be a lot of freelance photographers at 'Liam Payne's Big Birthday Bash', but she hadn't really pondered what that would mean until they showed up. The front of the venue was teeming with paparazzi, all shouting vulgarities, saying provocative things, prompting one or both of them to open their mouth and say something that could be the headline of next week's celebrity news.

Harry had handled it well; had tuned the crowd of unfamiliar voices out and focused on the voice of her lover. She followed Louis's instructions and kept her mouth shut. It was simple and Louis and his body guard aided the two of them in safely. Nothing had gone wrong.

But Louis had been ticked off at some of the things the men were saying about his girl. It wasn't like Harry had done anything wrong. He was in a grumpy mood the majority of the night as a result. Louis had had a couple of hard drinks and by the time they finally got back to Louis's home for the night he felt comfortable sharing with her why he felt so angry.

He combed his fingers through Harry's long hair, murmured against her collarbones that for so long he'd been with so many girls, had slept with everybody under the sun and felt it was wrong of them to try to attack her, and call her names for being with him. Louis had expressed how disgusting it was with spite in his slurring voice that he could be promiscuous - could sleep around all he wanted and be uplifted; labelled a 'womanizer'. But this new girl they've never seen before? Oh, she's another one of his sluts. That night Louis had apologized for something that wasn't his fault - an unjust part of human history and cultural society that he had no control over. Harry had kissed him, told him it was alright and that it didn't change the way she felt about him.

After he feel asleep that night Harry told Louis she loved him, rubbed her hand over his bare back as she whispered the words into his downy hair.

It wasn't fair. They met under some pretty abnormal circumstances. The cards they had been dealt weren't ideal. But Harry wouldn't trade them for the world.

"Do you remember what you told me that night?" Harry asked, shyly. She didn't want to scare him off - go too deep and end up hurting him.

"Probably not to listen to them, 'cause everything that comes out of their mouths is complete bullshit," Louis snarls, honestly.

Harry huffs, shook her head. "No, not like... that," she smiles, takes his hand and slides their fingers together.

Louis frowns, confused. "I mean... what you said after. Once we went home," she clarifies.

"Oh," he breathes, thumb pressing over her knuckles. His gaze drops down to where they're both laced together.

"I wasn't exactly sober, I don't think,"

Harry feels a soft giggle erupt from her throat. She feels her body moving closer to him, and pretty soon their chests are pressed together. She curls herself into his warm embrace, glances up at him.

"No, you weren't," she informs him.

"You were drunk, Daddy,"

Louis kisses her forehead, and Harry can feel the subtle indents of his fond smile against her skin.

"What did I say, then?" He asks.

Harry knows what she wants to say.

"You said that it bothered you... the things they were saying about me," she mumbles, still unsure of whether or not she should be bringing this up at all.

Louis nods, rubs his pad of his thumb over the back of her hand. Harry flexes her fingers in his grip, staring at their slight contrast in skin tone.

"Is that... " Harry swallows, doesn't want to say what she is about to. But she's got so many questions and only knows not to ask them after she already has.

"Hm?" Louis asks, watching her expression change with hooded eyes. They're both so constantly amazed of one another. Harry can't hold back the tiny smile that crawls up her face. It's cute.

"I was just wondering if... that was why you were like, so worried of us- you know," Harry softly rambles, feeling insecure about her inference when Louis is looking at her like that.

"Of us? Because of what other people think?" Louis frowns, shaking his head.

"No, like... maybe why you don't want us to be... you know. Together," Harry stammers quickly. She already knows her time is wasting away. Pretty soon Louis will realize what she's getting at, shut down, and that'll be that.

"We are together. You're here with me now. I'm with you, right?" Louis says, clearly not understanding. Harry is blushing now, out of embarrassment.

"I know. But... does it bother you what the media will say about me? Like, if we were to..." Harry trails, hiding her face in his neck.

Louis kisses her head, seems to catch on to what she's referring to.

"I don't know, Harry,"

And that's always what he says when she asks him about them. It's always 'I don't know, Harry,' or 'Why does that even matter? That's between us,' or on rare occasions 'I don't feel like thinking about it,' and Harry is so tired.

"But- Lou? Is that why you don't want -"

"No, it's not- no. That's not the only reason. You already know how ridiculous my life is. I just don't want you to have to get caught up in any of it," Louis answers, tensing.

Harry frowns, looking up at the older man. "But... I am involved. Not on purpose, but like. We do everything together," she gently reminds him.

Louis sighs, looking down at the sheets between their bodies. Harry can feel his discomfort. And she doesn't want to push him to his limits - doesn't want to have to deal with a grumpy Daddy for the next forty-eight hours. (Harry has dealt with this process a lot.)

"But you're mine. Not theirs. They can keep your name out of their mouths because they don't know shit about anything," Louis grits, and Harry loves how protective he'll get over the two of them. Even if there really isn't a 'two of them'. It's fairly obvious Louis wants there to be.

"If I really was, it wouldn't be like that..." Harry mutters. She doesn't mean it like it sounds. She doesn't mean it to make her seem vulnerable - like she can't survive without him.

Louis doesn't answer. Harry knows he feels guilty about it. He feels like he's put her through the pain of fame, only to give her no love in return. And it isn't true. The only thing Louis hasn't given her is verbal clarification. They've never gone past the mumbles and mutters. Louis feels uncomfortable and Harry never wants him to feel bad so she tries not to bring it up. But she wants to all the time. So.

Harry feels his hand leave hers. She pouts, but he cups her jaw then, tilts her chin up to give him eye contact.

Louis's eyes are a rueful blue. He tries to apologize for everything he thinks he's done with his eyes. He doesn't really say those things out loud. And for some reason it's still not enough.

He kisses her softly, their lips moulding together. They're both synchronized - always feel in place even when all is crumbling around them. Harry tries her best not to think about the emptiness she feels in her chest. It's heavy; is weighing her down. She doesn't think Louis understands that.

"... you know it's not like that," he murmurs against her lips, giving her a brief glance before pressing their mouths together again.

Harry kisses back with everything she has - tries to communicate to him with her lips what she couldn't with her voice.

She just wants him to tell her he loves her. That's all. She feels so overwhelmed by this - the fact that even though she knows very much so that he cares for her, his lack of saying the words makes her doubt it all. It's the only thing they're not compatible on. Louis does love and shows his love in a completely different way. Harry is distraught, here. She feels like she wants to cry - his love is all she wants. That's literally it. She doesn't understand why it's so hard for her Daddy to give her that. He's given her the world. This would make Harry's world.

It hurts so much more than it should.

Because it's stupid. It shouldn't be that big of a deal. Harry should be able to accept him for who he is an move on. Maybe any other girl would be able to let him be about it.

"I  _don't_  know what it's like," Harry counters as he pulls away. She parts her lips for his tongue, feels all the love she has for him just combust in her chest. It's got nowhere else to go.

Louis kisses her hard; in that same bruising way he always does. He lays her back against the pillows, uses the side of his hand to lead the the kiss.

Harry can hardly breathe. She stares at him as he sweeps his three knuckles over her cheekbone. His wet hair dangles into his eyes as he watches her lips chew. She's anxious - it's obvious.

She feels Louis's hand slip down her side, glide under her shirt to rest against the flat of her stomach. He likes to touch her there, dust his fingertips over her skin as a unique sort of comfort. Harry's breath hitches when his lips trail down her neck.

"... then let me show you," he breathes, thumb brushing over the skin just above the waist band of her panties.

Harry would honestly really like that.

She tries to calm herself down, takes a deep inhale. Her chest quivers with the exhale - already so hot and bothered by the heat of his body pressed against her.

She knows she could never force Louis to do anything. She knows the affect he has on her and is yet to find some semblance of control over the situations he puts her into.

Harry sucks on Louis's tongue, moaning softly because she can feel his hand sliding down even further - and she's never been a very patient girl.

She loves it when he completely drapes himself over her. She rubs her hands up his chest, cups his neck and then smooths them back down.

Louis gives her sensual touches; his index finger dipping lower just to tease her hypersensitive skin. He sucks at her neck while he does so - lips pressing down on lovebites from last night to make her gasp.

Harry closes her eyes for a moment, breathes in the scent of him. She focuses on the feeling of his hot, wet mouth moving over her burning flesh. His hand is peeking past the elastic band of her undergarment now, teasing her with its presence.

Harry whimpers, baring her throat for more. Her body has a mind of its own when Louis is playing with her like this. She feels as though she has no control over her actions. Her mind is teeming with thoughts of her Daddy - turning her on far more than she has control over.

"Daddy," she gasps, her lashes fluttering as his hand trails down lower. He drags his fingertip through her heat slowly, gathering the wetness her body has produced. A surge of arousal courses through her veins at the sensation.

"Hm. You're Daddy's girl, aren't you?" Louis hums as he pushes their lips together. Harry wants to give a response but her tongue is in Louis's mouth before she can even comply.

"Daddy's good girl?"

Harry groans, the a pathetic sound gurgling in the back of her throat. Her thighs twitch open with the primitive need for her Daddy; trying to get him closer, though - lost somewhere in her subconscious mind she knows her efforts are useless. Daddy is in charge here. He calls the shots.

"- yeah," Harry nods furiously when he pulls away, glancing up at him with glazed corneas. Louis smiles, pecks her lips softly because he always seems to be endeared with the desperate mess he reduces his Baby to.

Louis uses two fingers to rub Harry's clit softly, doesn't want to rile her up too quickly. Harry hums at the beautiful contact - feels another jolt of excitement pulse out of her.

"Getting so wet for me," Louis notes with a smug tone. Harry scrunches her nose up at him. Though she's flushed and panting with her arousal doesn't hesitate to show him her distaste.

Louis kisses her lips with a breathy chuckle, starts moving his hand down even further. His middle finger catches on her opening and he glances up in question. Harry's hips rock up slightly, egging him to just do  _something_  because she hates (loves) being teased this way. It's utter cruelty; she's sure of it.

"'Want Daddy to finger you, Baby-girl?" Louis mumbles against her burning cheek, his fingertip slipping in just a bit before retracting. Harry swallows hard, her lips parting as she attempts to gain oxygen. She's losing her mind here.

"Please ...  _Daddy_ ," Harry moans, which - is hardly a response at all.

Louis often makes sure to keep Harry level headed and mentally present by expecting her to answer him with well expressed thoughts; a direct 'yes' or 'no'. Communication is key. But he seems to be feeling generous tonight and Harry isn't complaining about that.

Louis pushes his finger into her, slowly working it up and bending his knuckle to follow her passage. Harry licks her lips, brow furrowed with the feeling of his intrusion. She closes her eyes and concentrates, only opening them once she feels the rest of his hand brush against her.

Louis kisses Harry again while he pulls his finger back out, slowly at first - then works it back in. He bites Harry's lower lip, sucks it into his mouth as his thumb sneaks up and draws a slow circle around her clit.

Harry can already feel sweat forming on her brow, knows she isn't going to last long tonight if Louis is already giving her this type of unwavering attention. He knows just what to do - never hesitates to give it all to Harry.

And Louis is so attentive; doesn't even give Harry a moment to catch her bearings before he's thrusting his finger into her gently, the same rhythm she always seems crumble beneath.

Harry loves the gentle way their lips dance together; embracing like lost lovers. Louis smells really nice - Harry can't help but think. The spice of his cologne always gets her because it's especially pungent in these heady moments - these moments of intense intimacy. Whenever Harry gets a waft of the sweet musk from day to day she thinks back to the hot nights of endless passion shared between her and her lover. She always remembers the way his lips tasted, the way his body felt, the way he made her feel like she was floating on the clouds.

And she can't help it. She's in love.

She traces his toned abdomen, hand moving down to cup him through his boxers. Harry feels the vibrations of his voice travel through her bones when he moans.

"Baby," he sighs, his finger moving a bit faster in retort. Harry's eyelids waver at the feeling of his finger dragging against her walls.

When he presses a second finger in Harry just pushes her hand into his pants, taking hold of his erection. Louis falters, an airy sound punching from his chest when Harry thumbs over his tip. She doesn't think she loves anything more than making Louis feel good. She loves the rare moments when her Daddy is this type of vulnerable.

She listens to their soft sporadic breaths into one another, lips barely even colliding anymore. Harry's hips ache with pressure as he fucks two fingers into her, moving fast enough to get her heart racing.

Louis groans as Harry dips her thumb back into the pre-come that's bubbled at the head of his dick. She gasps, tries her best to stay on task - She spreads the wetness along his shaft, shucks her soft hand down to brush against his balls before moving back up. He seems to really like that - and uses all of his might to kiss her properly. Harry smiles into it, ecstatic she can make him feel the same bomb bursting eroticism.

"... can - could I eat you out?" Louis asks, his voice weak with arousal. Harry feels her heart leap in her chest with anticipation. She's about to nod when -

"Only if you let me suck you," Harry bargains, her eyebrow quirking up. Louis lets his head fall forward; laughs against her neck before making his move.

He reluctantly removes his fingers from where they've been fucking into Harry. She's so wet - a pool of her own excitement warm in between her thighs.

Louis lays on his back beside her. Harry doesn't need a preamble. She pushes the underwear down her thighs and kicks them off of the bed. Louis does the same, watching her hungrily, licking his lips.

Then Harry crawls on top of Louis, biting her lip as his hands settle on her hips. They snog for a minute or two, their lips reacquainting with one another. Louis's kisses are bruising - always leave Harry's lips plump and rouge when he retracts.

Louis's eyes are bullet blown. Harry tries to take a soothing breath -however, it does nothing but make her feel even more desperate for him. She exhales shakily, her blush darkening when Louis decides to open his mouth.

"Come on, Baby-girl. Sit on Daddy's face," he urges, his tone slightly teasing because he knows how much Harry loves these games.

And because Harry is a good girl, she obeys. She scuttles around counterclockwise, levels her lips with the head of Louis's engorged cock. Harry takes it the sight of it - Louis has such a lovely cock, she thinks to herself. She admires the size of it, certainly doesn't mind the way it feels pulsing inside of her. Harry likes it best when it's firm, shiny at the tip, resting flat against his belly.

Louis grabs hold of Harry's hips, jerking her from her drunken thoughts. He pulls her arse back just a bit so his mouth can have all access.

"Comfortable?" He inquires, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Yes, Daddy," Harry rolls her eyes, wriggling her bum. He groans, and without prelude - buries his face in her.

In retaliation to the intense wave of pleasure that tears through Harry's body, she tucks her teeth behind her lips and lunges forward, taking Louis's cock all the way down until the head hits the back of her throat.

Louis's sounds are muffled, but his hips jerk ever so slightly once Harry starts to bob her head up and down his girth. Louis's tongue is a true national treasure - teasing around her hole just so before worming it's way up the channel. Harry can feel the strong grasp he's got on her bum, parting her cheeks as he laps at her entrance.

Harry presses her hands into Louis's pelvis, trying her best to keep him steady; hold him down. She can feel the collar of her shirt dangling down into her workplace, fanning against the skin of her chest each time her neck surges forward or drags backward.

Louis's dick is hard and heavy in her mouth. It slides along the flat of her tongue until she pulls off for air. His shaft is glistening with her saliva, a dark red that's just begging her to take more. Instead, Harry moves her hands to hold Louis at the base whilst her tongue darts out to kitten lick the head until another bead of precome is pearling at the tip. Louis moans, his voice strained.

She starts again, angling him toward the back of her throat before she gradually eases him along the pathway. She moans around him when she feels his tongue bat around her clit, stimulation unpredictable and just what drives Harry crazy.

"Doing so good, Baby," Louis chokes out, the sound almost immediately drowned out by the wet squelching of his feverish tongue. The sound is lewd, something Harry would cringe at on any other day but - for some reason it just makes her feel even more hot for him.

And Harry feels so, so  _hot_  like she's sick with arousal - like her temperature has shot through the roof and she's experiencing symptoms of a terrible fever. That's what he does to her; makes her feel absolutely mad for release.

She starts to move her hips back in circular motions, chasing the warmth of his mouth. Her orgasm wouldn't be far away if he wasn't keen on the art of teasing. She can't really concentrate on it though - is too busy deep-throating her Daddy.

Harry's never been particularly good at multitasking.

The sharp smack of Louis's hand against her left cheek hits Harry aurally before physically. She falls forward, taking Louis even deeper as she huffs out through her nose.

"Be a good girl now. Don't be greedy," Louis warns, before his tongue is back on her, digging into her clit before flicking back out.

Harry feels tears welling in her eyes at the intense pleasure. In retaliation she takes Louis even further, so far in fact she has to fight her gag reflex.

And something washes over her, like this challenge to gain the upper hand here. Though she knows Louis is her Daddy and that he is the one in charge in the bedroom Harry does know she has at least a little bit of power as well. Because had it not been for her Louis would have never had the exhilarating experienced that comes with being a dominant.

So Harry suckles the head of his cock, jabs the tip of her tongue into the sensitive dip in the underside. Louis's grip tightens, his fingers gouging into her arse cheeks. Harry - feeling coy - continues those ministrations, running her palms over Louis's hips, dipping her hand lower to cup his balls, rolls them softly because she knows how overwhelmed he gets when she touches him there.

Because Harry has gone down on him just as much as he goes down on her. She knows his body so well it's unbelievable. Louis goes quiet when he's close - moans get breathy, hips jerky. He's relishing in the pleasure of his orgasm, when he's decided he can't hold it off any longer.

Harry is the complete opposite. She gets loud when she's close. She'll sob and she'll cry and she'll gasp and roll her hips until she can't take anymore. 

"Fuck, Harry - " Louis growls, starts lapping at her relentlessly and Harry knows it's because he wants to make her come undone first. She won't have it. Even if Louis Tomlinson eats the best arse on the planet.

When Harry pulls off, her lips shiny with spit she whimpers, her thighs quivering with the exertion of holding herself up through this. She misses her mouth on the way back down, Louis's cock sliding along her pink cheek. 

Harry's eyes flutter closed when without warning his hips shoot up, thrusting his dick deeper down her throat. She hums around his girth, a few strands loose from her messy bun tangling in her lashes.

And Harry tries her best not to feel the heat that coils in her lower belly after awhile. The way pleasure shoots up her spine and makes her feel like there's a fire between her hips. It doesn't help with the way Louis's hands start to run over her hips and up to her sides, then back down to massage the flesh of her arse. It's everything Harry feels for and its overriding her senses -

"Fuck -  _Daddy_ ," Harry moans, high and breathy. Louis tongues at her clit, lips closing around the tiny nub and sucking - He drags his tongue through her slick, up and down and all around and Harry can only imagine how wet his face must be. The thought is obscene.

Harry flicks her tongue into his tip. Louis's hips jolt and he groans. Feeling motivated to push him over the edge - Harry doubles her efforts, ignoring the strain in her neck in order to do so.The lights are dim - and the vanilla scented candles Harry lit before their bath are still burning low on the dresser opposite the bed. The room is aromatic - bodies reeking of sweltering Rose and Plumeria petals, the salty shore just meters away and melting into the pungent scent of hot endorphins and an undertone that just screams  _sex_.   
She's getting vague hints of it whenever she inhales - but all of her senses are wrapped up in this exchange. Or rather, this competition. Harry will revel in it later. She has other things to focus on right now.

When Louis starts bucking his hips up - writhing beneath her - she knows she's in the lead. Louis seems to catch on by that point, and presses a finger into Harry, still sucking around her opening - starts fucking his finger in the same manner which almost got Harry to come before. And she outright sobs around his length, tears streaming down her face because she knows she can't handle much more but she refuses to quit -

Harry gives it her all, fondling his balls, sucking his head, moving her thumb to stroke up the underside of his shaft until it presses into the hypersensitive little V beneath his cockhead. Louis isn't having it - is gentle slipping two of his fingers into Harry. She's shaking now - the frantic, almost panic-like anxiety in the pit of her stomach of her impending release has her weak and defenseless. Louis is in charge. 

The springboard is creaking beneath them - should be unnerving but Harry can't seem to give it any regard. The big bed has put up with a lot of their shit this vacation and Harry isn't sure how much longer the frame itself will last if they continue to abuse it this way.

And it feels like all of a sudden Louis is stifling his moan against Harry's left cheek, biting down before soothing over the pink mark with his tongue. Harry impales her lips on Louis's cock, takes him all the way down the way he likes. He always holds her head down when he comes - and Harry is too smug not to fulfill. She stays low, throat over-capacitated as Louis rides out his high. She knows she probably won't be able to speak tomorrow.

Before Louis can even enjoy the feeling of orgasm - he's back thrusting his fingers into Harry. They're deep; up to the knuckle when Harry pushes back toward him. She feels Louis's dick throbbing on her tongue, hot sticky semen drooling down her throat. She pulls off of Louis's softening cock when she knows he's finished, licks her glossy lips with a hazy smile.

Harry rocks back without thinking - mouth falling open in pleasure around a pathetic whimper of " _Daddy_ ," because she's almost there and can feel it like a tidal wave crashing over her. The heat spiraling through her tummy and that shiver than runs down her spine. 

He removes them after a bit, which she appreciates because when they fool around he knows exactly how Harry likes to climax. Louis wraps his lips around her clit and sucks, gives her firm but lazy, tentative licks until she's seizing up - her back arching as far as it'll go. It's that overstimulation at the very end after a myriad of teasings that makes her peak so intense.

Harry feels her thighs quake as she holds herself up - but then Louis is supporting her hips with both hands, ministrations never wavering for a moment.

When she's sensitive she whimpers, and he pulls off. She falls forward, resting her hot cheek against Louis's firm thigh.

"Fuck," Daddy curses, sinking back into the crumpled pillows and the twisted sheets.

Harry stays there for a minute, catching her breath. Eventually Louis tugs her up, wants to cuddle her close as always after they make love. Because it's always love - even if he can't say it.

It's a while later that Harry knows she can't help herself. He's smoking a cigarette with his arm draped over her shoulders, staring at the glow of the vanilla candles. Harry doesn't mind the smell of cigarette smoke - especially on Louis. She curls in close, watches as he pushes the end between his lips, muscles relaxing before her very eyes. He exhales the smoke and it's dark and hazy, but that's why Harry opened the sliding glass door.

She glances at the patio, the humidity entering their atmosphere. She slides her smooth legs against the white sheets - the heat of their tangled bodies still lingering.

And Harry knows her words might have consequences, but she wants to say them. Louis always tells her that if she wants something she should have it and Harry must think that whatever repercussions are worth the risk because before she can stop herself she's doing it.

"I love you," Harry mumbles against his chest. She feels guilty almost as soon as the words leave because she isn't sure she considered all the implications before acting. Harry is immediately anguished over all kinds of reasons why it was a bad idea. Which is strange because she felt so confident not even ten seconds ago. 

She expects Louis to tense - to pull away or to remain silent like he hadn't heard her, or to ignore or even pretend he hadn't heard. But Harry knows he's heard, because he sits up a bit, tugs Harry even closer to his side. He presses his warm lips to her forehead, strokes his free hand down her waist.

"I love you too," Louis murmurs, before taking another drag of his cigarette. Harry feels her chest tighten and it's never felt quite like this but. She's so happy it hurts. And she smiles because that's all she can think of to do. She most certainly hadn't expected him to return her declaration.

Harry plants a kiss to his neck, still flushed and slightly gleaming. And she doesn't want to push him anymore. She thinks this could possibly be the best moment of her entire life and would never intentionally do anything to compromise that -

"'Could... Lou, do you think when we meet my mum, I could introduce you as... m-my—"

"Boyfriend?" Louis asks, his fingertips lightly scratching over Harry's back. He doesn't sound upset, or concerned. He sounds just fine, actually and it's sort of confusing Harry.

"Yeah," she sighs, relieved. Louis looks down at her, and his eyes really say it all. 

Harry doesn't know how she ever got so lucky. If anyone had told her a year ago that she would end up with the man of her dreams she would have told them they were asinine. And she doesn't know what took Louis so long to decide that this was what he truly wanted. Harry isn't sure how or why Louis decided right now was the best time to take a chance -

Maybe between the post orgasmic daze of their incredible sex, the comfort brought on by the smoke of the cigarette, along with the security of Harry's body pressed against his - that Louis really feels relaxed enough to consider the truth.

But Harry doesn't know for sure. And frankly, she doesn't care. She's gonna be grateful he said it. Because Harry wasn't sure she was going to able to last another moment without hearing it.

"Lou?" Harry hums again. She hopes she isn't annoying him at this point.

"Yeah,"

"Thank you," she answers. Harry doesn't explain what she means by that. And Louis doesn't ask her. Instead, she stays silent, cuddles with her Daddy until he's reached the filter. 

And after, Harry tugs Louis by his hand out of their bedroom. They end up on the shore, because Harry felt like getting her feet wet.

Louis indulges her, because he's always genuinely been impressed with the aura she emits. She's a bundle of joy. Harry doesn't think Louis really knows how much of that joy is a result of him.

Harry catches Louis looking up at the stars, his eyes glimmering in awe. She slips her arms around his front, nestling her face in the crook of his neck. He presses his lips to her head, rubs her back. Harry feels the tide rolling around their ankles and the water is warm even at night. She inhales, exhales.

And they don't really say anything more. Harry feels like everything is on the table now. She may not ever understand why Louis does the things he does to protect himself, but she doesn't really need to. It tears her apart in a way she can't describe; to see him unhappy. Harry can only do her best for him and hope that one day, he'll feel as safe with her as she feels with him.

Because he's got to be the one for her. No one could ever compare to Louis, or replicate the feeling of their love. Harry knows that. She knows that they're special. Harry also knows it's not going to be easy, but this is what she wants. She'll do whatever it is she needs to in order to keep them together. And it's clear that Louis feels the same.

 

\- ♕ -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it! Thank you all so much for reading. I can't explain the feels I got while writing this and I hope I did justice to the concept. It took awhile for me to get Part 2 posted simply because I wanted it to be perfect. And even now I'm still not so sure whether it is or not, but. I think I got the point across right?
> 
> If you have any questions or just want to chat feel free to hmu on [tumblr](http://sobbingsoftly.tumblr.com). And if you wanted to see some of the other trash I've written I'm also on [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/FicticiousFanatisch).


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